Oiran
by hakubaikou
Summary: Komagata Yumi meets a sinister stranger with a fiery sword and an icy disposition.
1. Chapter 01 Flames in the Darkness

DISCLAIMER:  This is a fan fiction based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga and anime series.  Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shounen Jump, and Sony Entertainment.  This is a non-profit piece for entertainment purposes only.  Permission was not obtained from the above parties.  If any of the above parties or their representatives have a complaint regarding this story, please contact me, and I will comply with any stated requests.  And no, I won't even try to make these funny.  I'm not good at funny….   
  


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**OIRAN:  Chapter 1 – Flames in the Darkness **  
By Haku Baikou   
11.May.2003 

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1872:  Fifth Year of the Meiji, Tenth Month.…   
  
  
Nishida Jubei returned from a long, unpleasant journey.  He had traveled far, visiting his family's lands and his father's estate.  It had been a taxing voyage both physically and mentally, filled with uncomfortable moments between himself and a family he barely knew anymore.  Awkward silences abounded during the visit, and although such silences had always been the norm whenever he went to see his parents, this time those moments had been particularly painful.  He could not really blame his family for once.  He could not have expected them to react well to his news.  He had, after all, gone home to say farewell.  To tell them all that he was dying.   
    
His brothers had looked away.  Mother had cried.  And Father….  Well, Jubei supposed he would never know Father's reaction, since the man had still refused to see him.  It was a mercy, in a way.  Spared from what would surely have been an unpleasant encounter, Jubei had cut short the visit and was soon on the road again, heading back to the very place his father so emphatically disapproved of, the place Jubei considered his true home now, a place of warmth and comfort.  Ironic, considering its reputation across the country as a center of decadent notoriety….   
    
Shin Yoshiwara, the famed Pleasure Quarter of Tokyo, the notorious red light district.    
    
And as far as Nishida Jubei was concerned…home.   
    
Known for the ageya, the teahouses within the walls of the quarter perimeter, and the oiran, the courtesans within the walls of those teahouses, Shin Yoshiwara had been the center of elegance and flair in its heyday, the center of high, yet immoral, culture and risqué fashion.  It was past those days now, its splendor fading slowly as competition from the rougher (and far cheaper) brothels of the Eastern Banks of the Sumida River forced the teahouses to lower their standards in clientele.  But it was still the best place in the world to be for a woodprint artist like Jubei, and its magnificence, though waning, was far from gone.  Shin Yoshiwara was slowly dying, its days numbered and its glory ebbing, but like Nishida Jubei himself, the Pleasure World wasn't quite ready to go and still had quite a bit of life in it yet.    
    
He sighed and pulled his hood closer about his face.  Morbid thoughts were appropriate on a night such as this.  Rain drizzled from a cloud-darkened sky and the moon was nowhere to be seen.  It was unusually cold, even for the tenth month, and Jubei would not be surprised if he were to wake up tomorrow morning and find snow on the ground.    
    
Damned foolish of him to be walking on a night like this.  Though he felt strong enough at the moment, his health was delicate these days, and such exposure would surely set off another round of coughing.  He was lucky that it hadn't yet, and he resolved to keep it that way.  It wouldn't do to finally see Yumi and Mari again after all this time, only to show up at their door with blood all over his clothes.  The two of them would kill him if they knew he was out in this rain.  He could picture them now, a double-fronted attack that he could never defend against:  Yumi's silver-tongued scolding and Mari's quietly reproachful looks.  They would usher him in, he imagined, fussing over him as they treated him to a hot cup of tea, or better yet, warm sake.  He chuckled softly at the imagery, then shivered involuntarily from the chill air.    
    
It really was uncomfortable, this cold.  He was cheered to see the Yoshiwara walls finally, rising in the distance, dark silhouettes against the warm light spilling out of the Great Gate.  In his mind's eye, he could see the festive lanterns lining the main thoroughfare, the wide and lively Nakanocho Boulevard, leading from the Great Gate to all the pleasures within.  He could picture the great teahouses lining the boulevard, could imagine himself stepping into his House, the ageya that was home to the two most beautiful women in the world…. Mari…Yumi….   
    
A distant clamor brought him out of his pleasant reverie, and he blinked in surprise.  He heard the unmistakable metallic sounds of fighting, something he never expected to encounter so close to the Yoshiwara gate.  He squinted and looked around, trying to discern the location of the fray.  And there, to the east towards the river, he saw the shadowed figures.  Dozens of them in an empty field in what looked to be a frenzied skirmish.    
    
Jubei surreptitiously fingered the hilt of the katana he wore under his outer coat.  A popular woodprint artist he was now, but years ago, he was something quite different, something just a bit more vicious.  He rarely carried a sword these days, but occasionally still wore one on his belt, especially when traveling potentially dangerous roads alone.  The road leading up to Shin Yoshiwara had not been what he would consider dangerous, but the rest of his journey had taken him through some rough countryside.  He was grateful now, that he had not packed his sword away upon entering the city borders.  He'd grown used to the weight of it during his voyage, and he'd kept it with him out of pure habit.  Old habits did die hard, and Jubei was glad of that tonight.    
    
He studied the fighting from a distance, uncertain of whether or not he should get involved.  His better judgment told him to stay far away, that this altercation was none of his business, especially since he didn't even understand what was going on.  And he was woefully out of practice, his fighting skills far from what they used to be, his health touchy at best.  He never knew when a coughing fit would overtake him.  Reasons all to keep walking and move on.  And so he kept his hand on the katana, but quickened his pace, resolutely disregarding his own inquisitive nature, as he moved unobtrusively as possible past the fighters, determined to pass by unnoticed.    
    
Sudden flames erupted in the night.    
    
And then were quickly extinguished.  Jubei hissed in involuntary surprise and turned at the abrupt orange flare that had just seared across the edges of his awareness.    
    
But there was nothing there now.  And if not for the sea of green after-images imprinted in his vision, he would have thought he'd hallucinated the whole thing.  He blinked into the darkness, clearing his sight, trying to see what had caused such a strange and intense phenomenon.  But all he saw were shadows, the forms of the fighters, still moving in earnest as dozens of men surrounded a tall figure in the center.   
    
He frowned.  One man?  He had not realized the odds were so uneven before.  Dozens of warriors against one lone man?    
    
From the looks of things, the lone fighter was actually holding his own, was doing surprisingly well against the ring of attackers, but Jubei's sense of honor bristled at the unjustness of the conflict.  He felt an unreasonable urge to join in the fray even as his mind screamed at him that he was being a fool.  Curiosity and an insulted sense of justice finally won out over caution, and he stepped off the road towards the fighters in the field.    
    
As he neared, he saw that the tall figure was not actually alone.  Huddled at his feet was a smaller shadow, what seemed to be a child slumped against his leg.    His decision to render aid was cemented then.  His grip on his sword tightened, and his steps grew more confident.    
    
Jubei frowned as he came close enough to recognize the circle of attackers as hirelings from across the river.  It made his decision even easier when he realized who his opponents were.  He almost sneered, so great was his disgust.  Mercenaries from the Eastern Banks.  They had been skulking about the roadway to Yoshiwara for months, trying to intimidate potential clients and keep them from entering the city.  They had been for the most part ignored, their skills no match for the guards of the various daimyo who still frequented the Pleasure World.  Jubei shook his head.  All bravado with no actual skill to back it up, these men.    
    
"Oi, you there!"  The fighters from the outer edge of the circle had finally noticed him as he neared.    
    
He kept his hand on his sword, but did not draw it.  Stepping lightly over the bodies of several men who had been downed by the stranger, Jubei paused at the edge of the circle and briefly studied the tall man in the center.  He was a mystery, that was certain.  He was covered from head to foot with bandages, and yet he seemed unhurt.  He held his sword easily, his stance immediately marking him as an obvious master of his art.    
    
Jubei inhaled softly in awe and wondered if the mercenary fighters could sense what he did.  The man's fighting chi was something to behold.  Stronger than almost anything Jubei had ever sensed before, even from back in the days of the Bakumatsu.  It was akin to the presence of his old superior officers, on a level with Okita-san or Hijikata-san.  Jubei shook his head in wry amusement.  He had been a fool to involve himself.  This man would have no need of his assistance, he realized.  He had just placed himself at risk for nothing.    
    
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" one of the mercenaries said, pointing his sword threateningly at Jubei.    
    
For lack of anything witty to say, Jubei opted to respond with the truth.  He pitched his voice to address himself as much to the tall stranger as to the mercenary waving a sword in his face.  "Pardon my foolish intrusion.  I was merely curious."    
    
The mercenary who'd accosted him arched his rough eyebrows in disbelief, and Jubei couldn't completely blame the fellow.  He knew he no longer looked the part of a warrior these days, dressed the way he was, his body thin as it was.  But if the mercenary had any ability to sense chi, he ought to have known that Jubei, despite appearances, was by no means an amateur, and that his sword was not strictly just for show.   
    
The mercenary narrowed his beady eyes and shook his head, sending a shower of rain droplets flying.  Jubei looked downwards, hiding a smile as his damned over-active imagination conjured sudden images comparing the mercenary with a wet dog.    
    
"Finish this idiot off, boys," said the mercenary with obvious disgust as he turned his attention back on the tall stranger.  The fool had misinterpreted Jubei's movement as a sign of submission.    
    
Jubei drew his sword then, and faced the half dozen men who now turned to surround him.  The bandaged stranger, he noted, had not moved from his earlier position.  The man still stood quietly, sword in hand, waiting for another rush from the mercenaries.  Jubei had no more time to wonder about the stranger as his own set of opponents rushed towards him then, swords drawn, their furious battle cries polluting the stillness of the night.      
    
His battle sense and fighting reflexes returned with ease, he was pleasantly surprised to find.  Either that, or his opponents' fighting skills were abysmally incompetent.  Jubei suspected a little bit of both.  In any case, he had no difficulty parrying their thrusts and avoiding their slow and clumsy movements.    
    
He had finished off all but one of his attackers before his lungs suddenly betrayed him, causing him to hesitate a moment as he bit the back of his hand, trying to stave off a coughing fit.  Too late.  He saw the downward flash of metal and knew he'd made a fatal error then, that his brief moment of hesitation was all his opponent needed to successfully pull off a killing stroke.  He lifted his sword to parry anyway, knowing that it was far too late.  His enemy's weapon had already begun its downward arc, and in his current state of weakness, Jubei would not be able to keep the attacker's sword from penetrating his defense.  But the reflexive movement was impossible to break, and so Jubei defended himself to the last despite his hopeless situation and only briefly regretted his foolish notion of helping a complete stranger.    
    
His sword connected.  And miraculously, it held.  The force of his attacker's killing stroke was surprisingly weak.    
    
Jubei looked up in confusion, and it took a moment for the artist's stunned brain to comprehend the image of a sword point protruding from the front of the mercenary's chest.  Jubei blinked and lowered his sword, watching in bemused silence as the mercenary slowly slid forward towards the tip of the sword embedded in his chest and fell in a heap to the ground.    
    
With a quick twisting motion, the bandaged stranger pulled his sword free of the dead man's back and casually flicked the blood off before sheathing his blade.  He regarded Jubei with eerie, crimson eyes, expression unreadable behind the strips of cloth covering his face.    
    
"Thank you," Jubei murmured, wiping his blade clean and sheathing his sword.  He lowered his hood, revealing his face to the stranger.  "My name is Nishida.  Nishida Jubei," he offered in brief greeting.  He was having a bit of difficulty catching his breath.    
    
"I didn't need your help," said the stranger, his voice flat.    
    
Jubei blinked.  This was not the reaction he'd anticipated.  "I realized that," he said mildly, "A bit too late.  At the time, I thought you could use some assistance."   
    
"Expect no gratitude.  I owe you nothing."   
    
"That you don't," sighed Jubei.  "And even if you did, you saved my life.  Which makes us even, I suppose."   
    
The stranger frowned, as if perplexed by Jubei's mild responses.  Most men would have been insulted by the stranger's ungrateful attitude, they both knew.  Most men would have responded to the stranger's thinly veiled aggression in kind.  The stranger's eyes narrowed.  Distrustful.  Unsure as to whether Jubei was a simpleton or so mild-mannered as to warrant suspicion.    
    
He was neither, really.  What Jubei was, was dead tired.  The burst of energy he'd had during his fight had faded now, and he was left with a bone-weary fatigue.  The coughing resumed in earnest now, and he turned away from the stranger as he finally gave into a fit that was too strong to hold in.  Jubei smiled humorlessly to himself as he wiped blood off of the back of his hand.  The stranger had saved his life, but he had merely postponed the inevitable.  _I'm a dead man, my friend_, the thought came.  _I've no time to waste on useless anger._   
    
He turned to face the stranger once again.  They looked at each other briefly, neither man speaking.  There was nothing left to be said, after all.  And all Jubei felt in the aftermath of the fight, besides weariness, was a detached amusement of sorts.  An odd feeling he'd never experienced before.  He briefly wondered if this was what Captain Okita had felt in his last few battles, if this was partly the reason for the mysterious little smile that had always graced the young captain's face while he was ill.  Jubei shook his head free of old memories and shrugged, feeling more than a bit ridiculous at the entire situation.  For some reason, he found tonight's events increasingly hilarious.  He turned to leave, deciding it was best to go before he could confuse the stranger even further by smiling or worse yet, laughing out loud.    
    
"Shishio-sama?"    
    
Both men turned at the faint voice from the child who sat huddled in the field, surrounded by dozens of mercenary bodies.  Jubei frowned in concern, all traces of humor gone.  He was ashamed that he'd forgotten the child was there.    
    
"Get up, boy," said the bandaged warrior quietly.  "Get up and walk, or I leave you here."   
    
"Hai," said the child as he braced himself against a wakizashi, trying to stand on wobbly feet.  He didn't succeed.  Merely toppled over into the wet grass, curling up into a little ball.  Jubei arched an eyebrow and walked past the warrior to stand over the child.  In the darkness, he couldn't tell if the boy was injured or ill.    
    
"This boy needs medical attention," he said.   
    
"I'm aware of that," said the stranger.   
    
"He needs a warm room and a dry bed."  Jubei bent down to pick the boy up.  The child weighed next to nothing, was a mere slip of a thing, light in Jubei's arms.  The stranger watched him, unmoving.    
    
"Look, Shishio-san, is it?  I'm headed for Yoshiwara," he said, indicating the Main Gate with a sideways nod of his head.  "I could take you both there.  Plenty of rooms for you to spend the night.  The rain won't let up any time soon.  You shouldn't be out in this weather."   
    
"Yoshiwara?"  A brief flicker of emotion crossed the eerie red eyes.   
    
"Yes, I have a small guest suite in one of the ageya.  You could say I have a special relationship with some of the occupants there."  He didn't feel like explaining his particular position in the teahouse, and he was becoming increasingly chilled and uncomfortable.  He felt an increasing need to go quickly, to seek warmth and shelter from the cold rain.  His patience began to wear thin.  "Look, any enemy of these East Bank bastards is welcome to a warm bed in my book.  I don't know what you did to upset them so, but whatever it was, it was probably a good thing.  No one will know of your presence there, if that's what you're afraid of.  The Yoshiwara has its own security personnel.  There are no police within its walls."   
    
"Why are you helping us?" the child in his arms asked, startling Jubei.  He hadn't realized the boy was awake and following the conversation.   
    
"I'm not sure.  It's in my nature, I guess," he answered softly.    
    
Large round eyes peered up at him.  "But that makes no sense," the boy breathed, then closed his eyes again and buried his face against Jubei's shoulder.  He sensed from the sudden slackening of the boy's body, that he was out cold, overwhelmed by fever and fatigue.    
    
"Take him," said Shishio suddenly as he turned to walk away.  "But if the boy dies, so will you."  It was almost a challenge, the way he said it.  "Take him then, if you still want him."   
    
"Where are you going?" asked Jubei, stepping back onto the roadway with the boy bundled in his arms.    
    
The other man kept walking eastwards, towards the riverside, and didn't look back.    
    
Jubei frowned, troubled and confused.  He found it difficult to maintain any coherent thoughts in his chilled and tired state.  He had no hope of catching up to the stranger, so despite the unanswered questions floating in his head, he hefted the boy up in a more comfortable position and slowly made his way to the Main Gate.  The child was not a particularly heavy burden, but Jubei's exertions from the battle were catching up to him, leaving him utterly drained and exhausted.  It was no more than a half a mile to the Main Gate, but the distance seemed interminable to Jubei's tired mind.  By the time he reached the entrance, his lungs felt as though they were on fire, and the edges of his vision were a bit hazed.  He could barely hold his head up let alone maintain his balance with the weight of the child in his arms.    
    
He vaguely registered the sound of angry voices as the Shirobei of the Gate, the red light district's internal law enforcement guards, challenged him as he tried to enter.  He lifted his head in response, trying to call out and identify himself, but his voice was a hoarse rasp, barely recognizable, and he was badly winded.    
    
"Nishida-san!" came a startled voice.  Someone recognized him then, he thought with relief.    
    
"Nishida-san, we didn't realize you'd be back so soon—Oi, are you all right?  Nishida-san, what the hell—"   
    
"Go fetch Kitada-san!  Now!"  Someone called as strong hands lifted the boy out of his numbed arms.  Jubei was ushered to the guard house and led to a seat and table.  Jubei closed his eyes and rested his head against the table, breathing deeply, centering himself, trying to restore his flagging energy.  A warm cup of tea made its way into his hands, and he muttered his thanks to whoever had thoughtfully placed the drink there.    
    
"You're welcome, Nishida-san."    
    
He knew that voice.  He looked up to find a familiar lined face, frowning with worry.    
    
"Kitada-san."    
    
The worried expression broke into a gruff smile as the old warrior saw that Jubei was all right, relatively speaking.  "You look like hell, boy," said the older man.   
    
"Is the child all right?  Where is he?"   
    
"Probably at the House by now.  You think you can walk home?  If not, we can get a stretcher."   
    
"No, I'll walk."  He couldn't stand the embarrassment of being carried back.  He stood, if a bit unsteadily.  His vision was still swimming, images coming in and out in strange waves of shadows and light.  But he found he could place one foot in front of the other and walk with Kitada to guide him through the bustling chaos of the main boulevard.   
    
"We weren't expecting you back so soon,"  said the older man as he guided Jubei through the maze of streets.    
    
"Yes, well, I missed your ugly face, Kitada-san."    
    
He heard the old warrior's amused laughter.    
    
"And what happened to you out there, boy?  You look like you've been fighting.  And who's the child?"   
    
"Later, Kitada-san.  Please, I'll tell you everything later.  Hell, I'm not even sure what's going on."   
    
The older man grunted and mercifully backed off on the questioning.   
    
"We're here."   
    
Jubei blinked, trying to focus his vision.  He was standing at the front entrance of the House, his House.  He breathed deeply, the familiar sounds and scents of the place washing over him, calming frayed nerves.    
    
"Are they home?" he asked the warrior next to him.   
    
"Of course.  They both are.  They're waiting for you."  Kitada smiled.  "Welcome home, Nishida-san."   
    
Nishida Jubei smiled in return, and with the old warrior at his side, stepped across the threshold, and finally arrived home.    
    
    


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Japanese Terms:   
    
ageya – teahouse (Ahem, they served a bit more than just tea)   
Bakumatsu – the period of revolution in which power shifted from the shogunate to the Meiji government  
katana – long sword  
Nakanocho Boulevard – the main teahouse-lined thoroughfare as one entered the Main Gate of Shin Yoshiwara   
Oiran – the highest class of courtesans   
Shin Yoshiwara – the walled off red-light district in Tokyo where prostitution was licensed and legal   
Shirobei – guards of the front gate of Shin Yoshiwara   
wakizashi – a short sword 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:    
    
Should this be rated R?  I do not plan on including any sexually explicit content in this story.  Definitely no lemons.  I originally rated this R because this story may be slightly more violent than my last one, may be a bit of a downer, and because of the nature of Yumi's occupation.  I felt that any story featuring a courtesan as a main character (and set in the red light district) automatically warranted an R rating, regardless of the actual content.  But then I was afraid this story wouldn't get any exposure since it wouldn't show up on the main search page.  I don't know.  I'm torn on this.  Input from readers would be helpful, so please let me know which rating you think would be more appropriate.    
    
Second—and I hate to admit this—the historical background of this story was gleaned solely by surfing the web.  I'm afraid with my current work schedule, I do not have the time to always check the accuracy of the information or to do any more extensive (and proper) research.  I apologize for mistakes in advance.  (And I'm sure there are plenty of them!)  So keeping this in mind, I hope you can forgive my errors, chalk them up to artistic license rather than laziness or ineptness, and manage to suspend your disbelief as you read.   
    
Finally, I did a little picture for this story.  Cover art, if you will.  The image link is in my profile.   
    
I hope people enjoy this so far.    
    
--HB   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 02 Tea Cups & Cupping

**OIRAN:  Chapter 2 – Tea Cups & Cupping**  
By Haku Baikou  
25.May.2003 

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Steam curled lazily from the cup of tea she placed before him.  Yumi sat with hands folded in her lap, silently staring at her somewhat bedraggled friend.  A month had passed since she'd seen Jubei last, and she took her time now, taking note of every detail, studying the artist with the same careful attention he'd so often paid her whenever he'd sketched her portrait in the past.  He seemed all right, she saw with relief.  She hadn't been sure, despite his protests when he first arrived, that he was truly well.  His voice had been terribly hoarse, and he'd had a slightly bewildered, unbalanced look, one that truly had her concerned.  But a quick inspection of his person, and additional reassurances from Kitada-san finally convinced Yumi that Jubei was in fact unharmed and, for the most part, no worse for the wear after his little exertion on the road outside.  He was tired and cold, was all.  Nothing a warm bath and a little hot tea couldn't fix.    
  
She watched him drink his tea, absorbed, as always, by the aesthetics of his appearance.  Even in a disheveled state, he was pleasing to the eye, was her Jubei.  The hands wrapped lightly around his teacup were the long-fingered, fine-boned hands of an artist.  Beautiful, sculpted hands, far better suited for creating art than for wielding a sword, she thought.  And so very skilled, those hands, she remembered with an inward smile.  Very skilled indeed.  She could remember the feel of them, light and sure as they traveled down her back….  
  
They'd been lovers once, long before they became friends, long before he became sick.  She could recall as if it were yesterday, the shy young client she'd been introduced to, the brilliant woodprint artist that was the newest darling of Asakusa's cultural elite.  The denizens of the theatre district in nearby Asakusa had raved to her about the young man, of his incredible portrayals of the famed kabuki stage actors, many of whom were her friends.  Her curiosity piqued, she'd agreed to meet with him, for him to do her portrait.  And the rest…. Yumi smiled.  It hadn't been long before he'd returned for a second visit, and then a third…. And aside from all the…pleasantries that had occurred during those subsequent visits, she really had been pleased with the result of his work.  His portraits of her were, as everyone had said, nothing short of brilliant.    
  
He had helped make her what she was today, one of the most famous of the oiran, her face known throughout Tokyo.  And in return, the popular portraits of Komagata Yumi had boosted and solidified Nishida Jubei's reputation as a woodprint artist.  The two of them had made an excellent pair, both in business and out.  And the first year they'd known each other, their professional and personal lives had been intertwined, full of creative energy, heart-pounding and feverish and exciting.    
  
Until he'd become sick.  Which had changed everything.    
  
Changed everything for the better, actually, thought Yumi, though most people would have assumed the opposite to be true.  They'd stopped being lovers.  And when she and Jubei had blinked the dazzlement out of their eyes and adjusted to the reality of their doomed affair, something new had blossomed between them.  The fire was gone, the surface trappings of their torrid relations stripped away to reveal something quieter, deeper, and far more meaningful.  It was as if their minds were suddenly clear, and they could truly see each other for the first time.  It had taken his illness to make them realize how blind they'd been, to make them realize that despite their physical attraction, they had, in all their time together, never really been in love.    
  
Infatuation gave way then to a warm abiding friendship, one that had grown deeper throughout the years and one that Yumi treasured above all others.  Nishida was still a brilliant and famed artist to the rest of the world, but to her, he was simply Jubei.  It had been a strange blessing of sorts, their altered relationship.  Had they continued with their tempestuous affair as it had been, Jubei would most likely have come and gone like so many other men in her life.  But because of the change, he had become a permanent part of her life, a warm and dependable presence.  He was one of the few people in the world who had access to Yumi's true self, the self she showed only to those she cared for the most, the self that was locked away and hidden deep beneath the oiran shell she maintained for the rest of the world.    
  
She looked at him now, this dear friend of hers, and tried to hold her anger in check.  What in the world had he been thinking to rush headlong into a battle he was in no way conditioned to withstand?  He'd always been a sensible fellow, staying well away from swordfights despite his obvious skill with a blade.  He'd told her once that his life as a swordsman was long over, that in his heart, he'd always had the soul of an artist, not a warrior.  That he'd joined the Shinsengumi because his family had dictated that he do so, not because of any love of fighting.  So what the hell had he been thinking tonight?    
  
Yumi glowered, her mood growing darker by the minute.  It took all her self-control not to throttle the young artist at the moment.  He had, at least, the good graces to look visibly abashed and squirm a bit under her disapproving glare.  And well he should, fool that he was, fighting in the rain on a bitterly cold night such as this.  If she weren't so concerned about his health, she would have seriously given thought to doing him bodily harm herself.  Jubei, the idiot.    
  
Her idiot.  Her best friend…. Still an idiot….  
  
"You're awfully quiet.  Have you nothing to say?" he ventured at last as he carefully sipped at the tea.  And when the silence continued:  "Yumi, my dear.  What are you thinking?"  
  
"I must admit I'm in awe," she said, her voice venomous silk.  "In complete and utter awe at the endless bounds of your stupidity, Jubei, the immensity of the scale of your idiocy.  And don't 'my dear' me.  Cheap endearments will not work this time."  
  
Kitada-san, who stood quietly by the door, choked back a muffled cough.  Endo Mari, who sat quietly next to Yumi, politely covered her mouth with her hand and cast her eyes downward, quite proper except for the amused sidelong glance she directed at Yumi.    
  
"My stupidity is flattered and thanks you.  But Yumi, my endearments are never cheap," Jubei murmured, pointedly ignoring the old Shirobei captain behind him who was struggling not to laugh and the seemingly demure geisha by Yumi's side who hid her smirks a little more successfully than the old soldier by the door.    
  
"Jubei, Jubei, what am I to do with you?"  
  
"I take it that's a rhetorical question."  
  
She sighed heavenwards and glanced at Mari who smiled and shrugged.    
  
Jubei's eyes were lowered.  Thoughtful.  Intent on his tea.  "You could start by welcoming me home."  
  
She arched an eyebrow and tried not to smile.    
  
"Okaeri nasai," said Mari softly.    
  
"Thank you, Mari, sweetling.  I'm glad someone at least missed me," he said wryly.  A mischievous glance over the top of his cup as he took another long sip.  "Was that a smile I just saw, Yumi-san?"    
  
"Iya."  
  
"Are you sure?  I do believe—"  
  
"Iya."  
  
"Aa."  He sighed, his eyes looking back down at the tea.  "A pity."    
  
She laughed then, outright, unable to hold her amusement in any longer.    
  
"Damn you, Jubei, I'm trying to be angry with you!  Can you not cooperate a little and have the decency to look ashamed?  You've been a fool tonight."  
  
"I won't deny that," he conceded.  
  
"You could have been killed!"  
  
"I almost was," he agreed blandly.  
  
Mari gasped, and Yumi blinked, her playful mood fading.    
  
"So," she said.  "You're settled in now.  You've had your bath and your cup of tea.  You're warm and comfortable.  And we're all waiting.  Will you finally tell us what happened, Jubei?"  
  
"There's not much to tell, really.  I was coming home and saw some fighting in a field not far from the Gate."  
  
"That close?" asked Mari, her eyes wide.  
  
Yumi looked to Kitada-san in concern at this news.  
  
"I've sent men to investigate," the old warrior assured her.    
  
"That's good, Kitada-san," said Yumi.    
  
"I would be very interested in hearing whatever your men manage to find out," said Jubei.  "At any rate, these East Bank scoundrels were attacking a warrior and a child.  A strange pair.  This warrior, he had bandages all over from head to foot.  And he had the oddest looking red eyes.  They were quite unsettling, actually.  It felt as if they pierced right through me.  As if the man could see through to my soul."  
  
He smiled and shook his head.  "Ah, but you should have seen him fight, Kitada-san.  The man was amazing.  Truly amazing."  
  
"He may have fought during the Bakumatsu," commented the old warrior.  
  
"He must have," agreed Jubei.  "But not on my side, I'm fairly certain.  None of the Shinsengumi I knew used moves remotely like his.  Perhaps he fought for your Ishin Shishi, Kitada-san?  The child called him Shishio.  Do you know the name?"  
  
"Shishio.… Sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it," said Kitada, frowning.   
  
"I've not seen such expertise with a sword since the war," said Jubei.  "The East Bank hirelings didn't stand a chance.  Had I known the man's level of skill beforehand, I wouldn't have bothered helping him.  As it was, I was noticed by one of them by the time I got close enough to see what was going on.  A few of them fought me, and I did pretty well until I got careless at the end.  And the man I was originally intending to rescue ended up rescuing me.  And that's all, I'm afraid.  Not much to tell, really."  
  
"And the child?" asked Mari.    
  
"He was with the warrior the entire time, huddled at the man's feet.  After the battle, he tried to get up, but he couldn't.  This Shishio fellow threatened to leave the boy if he couldn't get up on his own.  I thought he was kidding at first, but when I saw his face, I thought he looked like he meant it.  So I picked the child up, and I offered them both a room here.  But the man walked away leaving the boy with me."  
  
"He's a strange little boy," said Yumi.  Mari nodded in agreement.  
  
"Strange?  How so?"  
  
"He didn't say much when we put him to bed, but…" she shook her head.  "I don't know.  The boy was pleasant enough, but something's just not quite right with that one."  
  
Jubei frowned in concern.  "He is very ill.  And he's been through quite a shock tonight."  
  
"Perhaps that's it," said Yumi, doubting it.    
  
She got to her feet and sighed.  "Anyway, It's late.  I'm sure Jubei needs his rest.  And the boy, strange as he is, needs tending to."  
  
Kitada-san excused himself and left to rejoin his men at the guardhouse, and Mari offered to fetch the cupping globes and some cotton so they could treat the boy with them later.  Which left Yumi alone with Jubei for the moment as the two of them headed for Jubei's suite of rooms.    
  
It was a comfortable room, decorated with an odd assortment of trinkets, yet still simple and spacious.  It was neat and clean, kept spotless by the teahouse staff while Jubei was away.  And he often was away since this was not his only residence.  He had his permanent home in Asakusa's theatre district, but a room at the ageya had been set aside for him when he'd collapsed from a fit of coughing once after leaving the teahouse to return home on a cold, snowy night.    
  
The proprietors of the teahouse well knew Jubei's worth, and for once, they spared no expense at ensuring their prized artist's welfare.  In a show of unprecedented generosity, they'd set aside an entire suite for him and even spared a few staff to look after it while he was away.  And equally surprising, they'd said nothing of Yumi's frequent visits with him when fraternization with the opposite gender had been severely frowned upon for the women of the House.  Perhaps it was because they knew the nature of Jubei and Yumi's relationship had long ago changed, that the presence of the sick young artist would in no way threaten Yumi's clients.  Or perhaps it was because of their fame, both of them bringing the teahouse far more earnings than their little luxuries cost.  Whatever the reason, Nishida Jubei enjoyed a privilege few men in Tokyo could ever know:  a permanent, private room just down the hall from the most desired woman in Tokyo, and free access to her company whenever and wherever he wished.  Yumi had known men who would have killed for such a prize.  But when Jubei had first been told of the guest suite, he'd merely smiled, and said, "How very thoughtful of them."  
  
She smirked at the memory and leaned against the wall watching him as he unsheathed his sword and methodically cleaned the blood off with an oiled cloth.  Cleaning his sword was the first thing he did even before he unpacked his belongings.  Once a swordsman, always a swordsman, Yumi supposed.    
  
He quickly finished and set the sword upon its rack by the window.  There were now two swords there, the one he'd just cleaned, and another.  Another sword he never used.  And not for the first time, Yumi found herself staring at this other sword, wondering where it came from.  Jubei treated the two weapons completely differently.  The first one, the one he fought with tonight, was always kept clean and in good working condition, but was treated the same as any of his other belongings.  It was an object to Jubei, nothing more.  The second sword was a different matter entirely.  Jubei treated it with reverence, cleaning it so that it shone, placing it with the utmost care on its rack.  It was a beautiful weapon, Yumi could see, and it obviously had some great meaning to Jubei.  But it was one of the few things he didn't talk about with her, and she knew the man well enough to not bother asking.  She watched him run his finger lightly along the sheath before turning to set his other bags down.  The odd thing, thought Yumi, was that despite all his care towards the weapon, it seemed to her as if Jubei truly and deeply hated the thing.    
  
"It's just a sword.  It's not all that fascinating, my dear."  
  
She started guiltily and looked at him.  He was sitting on his bed now, looking at her with amusement in his eyes.  
  
"Is it?  You don't seem to think so."  
  
He shrugged.  "It's a piece of metal, nothing more."   
  
"Aren't you full of lies tonight," she murmured, sitting next to him on the bed.  It was a Western styled bed, raised off the floor.  Jubei had a predilection for Western things.  His room was filled with odd curios from various countries.  The raised bed, besides being an interesting piece of furniture, served a more utilitarian purpose as well.  It was easier for Jubei to get in and out of the raised bed instead of a futon on the floor whenever he wasn't feeling well.  And the way he'd sunk down onto it tonight told Yumi that he was far more tired than he admitted.  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked as he swung his legs onto the bed and lay comfortably, his elbows under his head.    
  
She turned to face him.  "You're hiding something from me, Jubei.  I can see it in your eyes."    
  
"I'll have to teach my eyes to be more careful."  
  
"Did something happen during the fight?"  
  
He blinked, but recovered quickly and shrugged.  
  
"Jubei."  
  
He turned on his side and buried his face in the pillow.    
  
"Jubei…."   
  
He looked up at her, raising himself to rest on one elbow.    
  
"In the middle of the battle, I practically coughed my lungs out, slipped like an amateur, and nearly got myself killed by men who aren't worth the dirt they stand on," he said, his tone matter-of-fact and deceptively light.    
  
"Is that what it was?  I'd wondered what you meant by 'careless,'" she said softly.    
  
"And do you want to know something strange?  I thought I saw flames coming from his sword.  I know that sounds crazy, but I could have sworn his blade was on fire for a brief moment.  And do you know what I felt when I saw that?  I was scared.  I was scared the whole time, even as my stupid, over-inflated sense of justice made me join in."  He shook his head, frustrated.  "I was never this scared back during the Bakumatsu, Yumi.  Sure, I was nervous before battle, but I was never this…cowardly."  
  
"You're no coward, Jubei," she assured him quietly.  "I've known you too long.  You're far from cowardly."  
  
He lay back against he pillows, covering his eyes with one arm.  "That's all, woman.  Is there anything else you want to know?"    
  
"Jubei—"  
  
"I apologize.  That was rude," he muttered, his tone still short.  "Pardon my lack of manners tonight, Yumi…. I'm merely sick and tired of being sick and tired."  
  
It pained her, seeing him in such a mood.  He was rarely short with her like this, and when he was, it was usually a sign that he was truly bothered by something.    
  
"Jubei, Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
He thought about it.  "Are you free tomorrow?"  
  
Damn, she hadn't told him yet.  "No, Takei-san is—"  
  
"Takei?"  He sat up.  "Takei still comes here?"  
  
"Jubei, calm down."  
  
"I am calm," he said, visibly disturbed.  
  
She looked at him.  
  
"He's trouble, Yumi."  
  
"He's very wealthy, Jubei."  
  
"If it's money you need, I have—"  
  
She put her finger against his lips, silencing him.  "Go to sleep, Jubei.  You need your rest.  We'll talk about it tomorrow."  
  
She pushed at his shoulder gently until he lay back against the pillows again.  He really must have been exhausted for he let the argument go and said nothing more.      
  
Yumi reluctantly got up to leave.  "Would you like me to stay with you a while?"  
  
"No need," he murmured fuzzily, half awake.  "Just make sure the boy's all right.  Shishio will kill me if he dies."  
  
Yumi tensed and looked at Jubei sharply, but he was asleep, having murmured those last words as he drifted out.  She briefly considered waking him to ask what he'd meant, but decided against it.  There was time to ask him tomorrow morning.  For now, he really did need his rest, and it would not do for her to be confronting and upsetting him right before bed.    
  
Yumi made her way down the hall toward the other guest room where Mari was caring for the boy.    
  
The child was awake, lying belly-down on his futon, his chin resting on crossed arms.  His back was bare except for a row of little globe-like glass cups placed in a line down the left side.  It was an odd site, one that Yumi never quite got used to, but Mari insisted that cupping was a wonderfully effective treatment for respiratory illnesses, and people did seem to get better after the girl was through with them.  Yumi stood silently in the doorway, watching the geisha work on the boy.    
  
"Yumi-san," the boy greeted, smiling genially, innocent eyes wide.    
  
What was the child's name again?  Ah, yes.    
  
"Hello, Soujiro-chan," she said pleasantly enough, though she still had a nagging sensation that something about the child was wrong.  
  
Mari glanced up and smiled briefly as Yumi entered before returning her attention to her work.  She took another wad of cotton and drenched it in alcohol before lighting the cotton with a small candle.  The flame flared, a brilliant and pale blue, as Mari held the small bit of alcohol-soaked cotton under another one of the rounded glass cups, warming the air within before pressing the rim of the cup firmly against the boy's back.  As the warm air under the glass cooled, the skin underneath was suctioned upwards into the globe, a little pink lump that Yumi thought looked like a glass-enclosed mushroom.    
  
"It still feels…rather strange," said the boy, stifling a cough.  
  
"Well, it should hopefully help this nasty cold of yours," said Mari.  "Did your mother never do this for you when you were sick?"  
  
The boy hesitated, but his expression remained as friendly and carefree as ever.  "No, I don't think so, Mari-san.  I don't remember much about her."  
  
She saw Mari frown in sympathy, but before the young woman could say anything, Yumi had her own questions to ask.    
  
"And what about your father?"  
  
"Gomen, Yumi-san.  I don't remember much about him either."  
  
"Then the man you were with is not your father?"  
  
"Shishio-sama?"  The boys impossibly large eyes grew even larger.  "Iya, of course not."  
  
"Oh," said Yumi nodding.  "Then he's your uncle, I take it."  
  
"Iya," answered the child.  
  
"Then who is he?"  
  
A normal child would have responded to her guessing game, would have told her without hesitation.  This one just looked at her and smiled.    
  
"He's not one to be taken lightly, Yumi-san."  Spoken politely and congenially.  But the words chilled Yumi's blood.    
  
She suppressed a slight shiver.  Such words should have come from an adult, not a child.  It was eerily strange coming from the lips of such an innocent little boy.  She had hoped to question him further, but his oddness was unsettling, and she was at a loss as to what else to say to the boy.    
  
She looked at Mari who was staring at the child nervously as she placed the last of the cups on the boy's back.    
  
"Are you done, Mari?" asked Yumi.    
  
"Hai," said the young woman.  "I'll be back in a little while to take the cups off."  
  
Yumi nodded and left the two to retire to her own room.    
  
Random thoughts from the evening's conversations tumbled through her mind as she changed into her sleeping yukata.  Not surprisingly, she had difficulty falling asleep.  The excitement of having Jubei home again, the new and disturbing events with that Shishio character, and the odd little boy down the hall.  It was enough to keep anyone wide-awake.  But she stilled herself and took a deep breath.  She had much to do tomorrow, and she needed her rest.    
  
And finally, she did manage to slip into a deep sleep.  But red-eyed devils with flaming swords plagued her dreams the entire night.    
  
  
  


* * *

**Japanese Terms:**  
Aa –yes (informal)  
Iya – no  
Gomen – sorry (informal)  
Okaeri nasai – welcome home 

* * *

  
**Author's Note:  **  
  
Sorry for the delay in updating.  I've had the Month from Hell at work.  Thanks to the reviewers:  Akai Kitsune, Calger459, and Fallen Virtue.  Besides myself, you're probably the only three people on the planet who have read this story.  Heh!  Thank you so much.  I appreciate your feedback.    
  
Anyway, I knew this story wouldn't grab much of an audience since there doesn't seem to be much interest in Shishio/Yumi fics.  Oh well, I'm still going to keep writing this, since I'm interested.  I may not be able to update as quickly as I did with Recovery, though, since my schedule is crazy the next few months.    
  
Admittedly, this chapter was a bit boring since it's mostly set-up for future events, but it had to be done.  Hopefully this'll get more interesting next time.  Also, I realize that original characters far outnumber the regular RK characters at this point.  But that'll also change in later chapters as Shishio and Soujiro figure more prominently into the narrative.  Eventually, Kamatari and Hoji will be making appearances as well.  I hope.  Eh, I'll see how it goes.  
  
--HB  
  



	3. Chapter 03 Onnagata

** Oiran:  Chapter 3 - Onnagata**  
by Haku Baikou  
09.Jul.2003 

* * *

  
Jubei glanced up in exasperation at the silken clad beauty before him and took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm.  He set the charcoal piece he was drawing with down on a small tray nearby and folded his hands, careful to keep from staining his sleeves.   
    
"This session would go faster," he stated in what he hoped was a patient and reasonable tone of voice, "If you could manage to hold still every once in a while."    
    
A tragic little sigh.  A coquettishly demure dip of long thick eyelashes peeking over the edge of a delicately embroidered fan.  Jubei's petite subject continued to fidget under the heavy layers of silk and brocade that draped alluringly over an elegantly slim frame.    
    
Jubei sighed.  "Oh for heaven's sake, will you stop that?"   
    
"But I'm tired," came a low sultry voice.  "Why can't I pose sitting down?  Do you make Yumi stand this long when you do her portraits?"   
    
Jubei rolled his eyes.   
    
"Did—Did you just roll your eyes at me?"  The incredulous voice raised a notch in pitch.  The fan snapped shut revealing a strikingly beautiful, painted face.  One which looked rather annoyed at the moment.  A delicate eyebrow arched upwards expectantly, waiting for an apology.    
    
"Kamatari," Jubei growled.    
    
"Hmm?" the young onnagata looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.    
    
"Would you like to hold still for five more minutes?  Or would you prefer I nail your feet to the floor?"   
    
Kamatari blinked.  "_Someone_ must not have had enough sleep last night.  _Someone_ seems a tad irritable today."  The actor threw Jubei a nasty little sidelong glance and pouted in perfect imitation of a sulking young lady.    
    
Jubei noted with smug satisfaction that the young man was at least holding still now.   
    
"Thank you.  Now please stay there and don't move.  I'm finishing up.  It won't be long now, I promise you."   
    
Jubei picked up the charcoal piece again and resumed his sketching.    
    
His subject—uncooperative though he may be—really was a lovely specimen of humanity, Jubei had to admit.  Kamatari was an up-and-coming young actor of one of Asakusa's more eminent Kabuki playhouses.  The young man possessed an extraordinary beauty, a luminous presence that rivaled most women Jubei knew.  And the women Jubei knew tended to be quite beautiful, considering he associated mostly with oiran and geisha.    
    
Kamatari's physical pulchritude was not his only asset, however.  The boy really could act, could imitate a woman with uncanny accuracy.  Was a paragon of feminine poise and grace, was Kamatari.  No wonder, then, that old Hiro, the theatre manager had snatched up the boy the moment he first laid eyes on him and sent the young man to the best trainers to learn how to be an onnagata, a female impersonator.    
    
And what an onnagata he turned out to be, thought Jubei.  The boy had great potential and would surely attain widespread fame someday.  Or so Hiro had said.  Which was why the old manager had approached Jubei with a request to do the young man's picture.  Jubei had helped Komagata Yumi become famous, after all, and old Hiro had asked if he could do the same for Honjou Kamatari.    
    
Jubei had reluctantly agreed.  And when the young man had amused Jubei to no end at their first meeting, he had then seriously taken up Hiro's request.  Jubei had since painted the youngster's portrait several times despite the fact that each time, he subjected himself to the boy's restless temperament and impish tendency towards mischief.    
    
It was the boy's one major fault, this restlessness.  In all other respects, he was perfect at his trade, acting as a woman, demure and ladylike both on-stage and off, all hours of the day, according to the tradition of the greatest of the onnagata.  He was perfect at it almost all of the time.    
    
It was the "almost" that was the problem.    
    
For Kamatari had a propensity towards troublemaking, one of his few unladylike tendencies.  The young man had a restless energy that could not be quelled, and his control would occasionally slip.  He had an alarming predisposition, at such times, for ending up in street brawls.  And fighting with a goddamned scythe of all things, as unbelievable as it seemed.  Jubei never could figure out how such a slight young man could wield such an awkward and heavy weapon.  But Kamatari seemed to do rather well with it and had proven himself in fights on several occasions, much to the dismay and chagrin of his employers.    
    
_"Your face," old Hiro would often wail.  "You mustn't damage that precious face of yours, Kamatari-kun!  Why, oh why can't you hire a bodyguard like the others do?"_   
    
Jubei smiled to himself.  His young friend was quite a character, that was for certain.  Kamatari's strange blend of passive femininity and ebullient rabble-rousing may have been an endless source of anxiety for old Hiro and the other managers.  But the actor's steadily growing legion of fans adored him all the more for his outrageousness.  They apparently found his erratic and violent eccentricities endearing.  And old Hiro really could not complain about the fighting since it was in just such a rambunctious brawl that he had first spotted the boy.  Not like the old man didn't know the boy had such wayward tendencies.   
    
"What on earth is so amusing, Jubei-san?"   
    
Jubei came out of his reverie to find the young actor looking at him quizzically.  He smiled.  "I was thinking of street brawls."   
    
"And they amuse you?" Kamatari asked.   
    
The boy's confusion only heightened Jubei's good humor.    
    
"You amuse me."   
    
"Hmm.  Everything amuses you."  Kamatari fanned himself and idly brushed back a strand of his long, waist-length hair.    
    
"Remember the day when old Hiro first discovered you?"   
    
"Vaguely."   
    
"Vaguely?  You and your little friends nearly tore down the front pillars of Senso Temple."   
    
"Why does everyone have to bring that up all the time," the young man muttered under his breath.   
    
"I was just wondering what that particular fight was about."   
    
Kamatari shrugged.  "Some jealous lover, I suppose.  Same as always.  I honestly don't recall."   
    
Jubei shook his head in amused awe.  "Were all your lovers so violent?"   
    
"Some more so than others.  The female ones were usually the worst.  I've learned to avoid them at all costs."  The boy suppressed a lazy yawn.  "Aren't you quite finished yet, Jubei-san?"   
    
"Hai, hai."  Jubei set aside his drawing board and charcoal and stood to clean his hands in the basin of water left for him by one of the servants.  The basin, like everything else in the young actor's suite of rooms, was gorgeously opulent.  Far too extravagant a bowl to be washing charcoal stained hands in, thought Jubei.  But Kamatari didn't seem to have anything more plain.    
    
The young man sauntered over to Jubei's drawing, tilting his head this way and that as he appraised the sketch.   
    
"Well?" asked Jubei.   
    
"It's absolutely lovely," murmured Kamatari appreciatively.  "Stunning.  And quite accurate."   
                                  
Jubei snorted.  "No woman I know would be so outwardly confident of her beauty."   
    
"No woman you know has reason to be."    
    
Jubei laughed.  Too hard.  And frowned as he had to stifle an unexpected little cough.   
    
If Kamatari noticed, he gave no indication of it.  He absently motioned for Jubei to sit down and have some tea while he casually began to take off the various layers of his complex Kabuki attire.    
    
Servant boys scurried magically out from nowhere to pick up the various pieces of clothing dropped carelessly to the floor by the young actor before disappearing again, no doubt taking the costume to be carefully laundered.  Jubei winced a little at seeing such expensive fabrics dumped so casually to the floor.  It was yet another of Kamatari's odd quirks, his dismissive treatment of objects that had been so carefully selected at the time of their purchase.  It was as if he'd already grown bored of whatever he bought by the time he bought it.    
    
As one of the serving boys produced a hot cup of tea (by some unknown signal on Kamatari's part that Jubei couldn't for the life of him figure out) and deposited it in Jubei's hand, the young actor stepped behind a screen and changed into a comfortable blue kimono.  He took off the massive wig he'd been wearing with a contented little sigh and brushed his long hair back and tied it with a plain ribbon.  This was followed by a thorough scrubbing of his face (in yet another absurdly ornate basin) to clean off the thick make-up he'd worn for the portrait.    
    
"How was the trip home, by the way?" asked the young man quietly as he washed his face.   
    
Jubei set down his cup leaned back, resting his weight on his arms.  "As I expected.  Brief.  Awkward.  But blessedly uneventful."   
    
"I take it you didn't talk to your father then?"   
    
"No."    
    
Kamatari wiped his face dry.  He looked even younger without the make-up, and his face was even more disgustingly beautiful.  Fresh and young, and full of life.  If Jubei had been the type to admire boys, he would have found the actor irresistible.  Even so, his eyes were constantly drawn towards the onnagata's face.  Jubei was an artist.  He appreciated beauty no matter the source.    
    
"It's probably for the best," Kamatari was saying.  "Last time I went home, I made the mistake of trying to talk to my father.  The meeting did not go very well," he said wistfully.    
    
Jubei remained tactfully silent.   
    
The onnagata blinked away his memories.  "So.  Nothing exciting at all?  I'm disappointed."   
    
"Well, I did get caught in a fight just outside the Main Gate at Shin Yoshiwara last night."   
    
"A fight?"  Kamatari's eyebrows perked up in interest, then suddenly frowned in concern.  "Was that wise?"  _In your condition_, was the unspoken thought.    
    
The young man's eyes suddenly widened.  "Wait a minute!  I'd heard about that.  You were involved in that?"  
  
Jubei sighed wearily.  "Hai.  In the thick of it, unfortunately."   
    
"Shit!" said the young man in a most unladylike fashion.  "You were—You could have told me!  Why didn't you say anything?  What happened?"   
    
Jubei sighed again, took a long drink of his tea, and told the young man about his meeting with the bandaged stranger and the little boy.  He'd lost track of how many times he'd told the story already.  The shirobei had questioned him earlier this morning as had Yumi's oiran friends.  Had the incident occurred only last night?  It seemed as if it were longer ago.   
    
The young man was uncharacteristically silent and thoughtful when Jubei finished his tale.  It made the artist nervous to see the actor behaving so.   
    
"Kamatari?  What are you thinking about?"   
                                  
"Jubei," said the young man slowly.  "Haven't you heard?"   
    
"Heard what?"   
    
Kamatari's frown deepened as he muttered something about damned reclusive artists who didn't keep up on current events.    
    
"It's the talk of the town, Jubei.  They say some demon tore through the offices of several Fukugawa organizations last night.  Several rather gruesome deaths were involved.  Buildings were burned to the ground.  They barely were able to contain the fires."   
    
Fukugawa offices:  East Bank offices.  Jubei suddenly felt chilled.    
    
"Some demon?"   
    
"Hai.  Some red-eyed demon, tall as a house with sharp fangs, they say.  He breathed fire, they say.  Disappeared into the shadows after killing nearly every man in the Seven Blossoms House."   
    
"Isn't that a bath house?" asked Jubei.   
    
"Hai, one of the few decent ones on that side of the river," said Kamatari.  "Or so I've heard."   
    
Jubei felt a cold dread creeping up on his heart.  He'd seen the bandaged stranger up close.  Had felt the man's powerful ki.  The man could have done it, thought Jubei.  Could have killed all those people in cold blood.  The stranger had both the strength and the temperament to accomplish such a thing.  He had the motive as well.  And red eyes.  Chilling red eyes.   
    
Last night he had suspected the man might go after the East Bank men.  But he had not anticipated the scale of his actions, the wanton destruction.  Should he have tried harder to keep the stranger from leaving last night?  Should he have attempted one more time to convince the man to come to Shin Yoshiwara with him?  What would have happened if he had succeeded in convincing the man?   
    
Fool that he was, Jubei had involved Yumi and Mari in the matter, had left the stranger's child companion at the ageya.  Were his friends safe?  Would Shishio come for the boy?  And if so, what would he do? Thank them all politely for their hospitality, take the boy back, and leave?  Or burn the place to the ground and kill everyone in sight just for amusement's sake?  Jubei realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he had no idea what the stranger was more likely to do.    
    
All he did know was that he felt uneasy leaving Yumi and Mari at home without him.  Granted, Jubei wasn't as strong now as he used to be, and he couldn't hope to truly defend them all against an adversary as powerful as the stranger.  Granted, Kitada and the shirobei were competent fighters, all, and could most likely handle any danger more readily than a sickly man like Jubei.  Granted, Yumi was with her client Takei-san today, and the man always traveled with a full compliment of guards wherever he went.  Despite all that, Jubei felt a compulsion to head back to Yoshiwara.  Felt danger.  Felt that he had to be there for…he didn't know what.  He simply had to go back.   
    
"Jubei?"  Kamatari's voice was filled with concern.  And when Jubei didn't immediately respond:  "You think it was the man you met, don't you."   
    
After a moment, Jubei nodded.  "Do they know why he did it?" he asked quietly, not sure if he really wanted the answer.    
    
The young actor shook his head.   
    
Jubei closed his eyes, struggling for calm.  Panic would be premature at this point.  Shishio had gone after those who'd attacked him last night.  That was all there was to it.  A perfectly normal reaction, something he himself might have done had he been in the stranger's place.  But there was still that nagging thought in the back of his mind that the situation wasn't quite so simple.  His instincts made his skin tingle with dread.  It was feeling he hadn't experienced this strongly since back in the days of the Bakumatsu.    
    
And one thing Jubei had learned over the years was to always, always trust his instincts.    
    
"Jubei?  Jubei, you look pale."   
    
"Kamatari."  Jubei stood up.  "I'm very sorry.  Pardon me, but I must leave."    
    
"What?"   
    
"I must go home.  Back to the ageya.  Now."  And at Kamatari's perplexed look:  "Don't ask.  I don't know.  It's merely a feeling, but…I'm worried about the girls."    
    
The young actor frowned briefly, then nodded.  "We'll take my carriage."   
    
"Are you sure that's—"  Jubei blinked.  "We?"   
    
"Of course, you idiot.  I'm coming with you."   
    
"This doesn't concern y—"   
    
"Oh, shut up, Jubei," growled the young actor as he shoved past him and barked orders for the carriage to be brought.    
    
Jubei was secretly thankful for the young man's offer.  It was cold out.  He'd had some difficulty on his way over when he'd walked from Yoshiwara this morning.  And speed, of course, was of the essence.    
    
The trip back was a blur.  His thoughts raced as the carriage took them quickly towards Yoshiwara.  He stared blankly out the window, taking no note at all as sights and sounds of the Asakusa which normally enthralled him, sped by completely unnoticed.  A fresh dusting of snowfall had touched the streets, something Jubei normally would have marveled at.  But he paid no attention to it.   
    
He was worried.  Truly worried.  Unreasonably so, he tried to convince himself.  He was jumping to ridiculous conclusions, he told himself.  The sense of dread and panic was surely out of proportion to the risk of danger.  Most likely, he'd arrive home to find Mari with the boy and Yumi with her client.  Yes, they both ought to be safe.  Yumi's client Takei-san may be a pompous ass, but he was a well-protected man.  And despite his other depravities, he really did seem to adore Yumi.  He wouldn't allow any harm to come to her.  Jubei hoped.    
    
"I bet she's fine," Kamatari was saying, echoing Jubei's own hopes.  "The fight last night has you spooked.  That's all.  We'll get to your place, find everything in order, and afterwards, I shall have a marvelous time teasing you mercilessly as you buy me a jug of sake at a restaurant of my choice.  Most likely a very expensive choice.  Definitely."   
    
Jubei tore his gaze reluctantly from a view he wasn't really seeing and smiled at the boy.  "Thank you for doing this, Kamatari.  I know Yumi's not your favorite person in the world."  That was a bit of an understatement.  The two of them usually fought like cats, were notorious for their rivalry, in fact.    
    
"Hmm," was the young man's only reply.    
    
They arrived presently at the Main Gate.  And immediately knew that something was wrong.  The normal early evening crowd—ever present in the lively Nakanocho Boulevard—was gone today.  The street was practically empty save for a few guards walking purposefully about and some nervous looking civilians watching quietly from doorways.    
    
Jubei went to look for Kitada-san as Kamatari unloaded his scythe which he had strapped to the top of the carriage.    
    
"Kitada-san's not here," said the guard in charge.  "He's gone to Yadaya House."   
    
Yumi and Mari's House.   
    
"What's happened there?" asked Jubei, afraid to hear the answer.   
    
The guard looked uncomfortable.  "Best I take you there.  Let the captain explain."    
    
Jubei's blood ran cold.    
    
Nodding, he strode forward, following the guard, passing under the great red gate and into the strangely empty boulevard.  Kamatari managed to keep up with him despite a shorter stride length and an unwieldy weapon in hand.  And the three of them finally came to the front door of Yadaya House where a sober-faced Kitada was quietly issuing urgent orders to several of his lieutenants.    
    
"Kitada-taichou!" the guard called out softly.    
    
The captain's eyes widened as Jubei approached.  "Good, you're here.  I'd just sent some lads to go find you."  The older man wasted no time with further words and got to the point.  "Yumi and Mari are gone, Jubei.  As is the lad you brought home last night."   
    
"When?"   
    
"About an hour ago."    
    
"How?  What about Takei-san?  Doesn't he have guards?"   
    
"Takei-san didn't come today.  He had to cancel his visit due to some trouble with one of his warehouses on the riverside."   
    
"How the hell could this have happened, Kitada?"  Jubei struggled to keep his voice even.  "Oiran are not permitted to leave Yoshiwara.  Period.  How could they have gone without your guards noticing?"   
    
"They did notice, apparently," said Kitada softly, a vague look of shame coming across his face.  "We found them all dead.  Every man on that shift."   
    
"Kami-sama," whispered Kamatari, eyes wide.  "Were there no witnesses?"   
    
"Oh, I'm sure there were."  The old captain scowled.  "But they're not talking.  Too damned frightened, every last one of them."    
    
"The boy's taken them to _him_," said Jubei.  He shut his eyes, trying to breathe as his heart pounded and another coughing fit threatened.    
    
"Kami-sama," said Kamatari once again.  "How the hell are we supposed to track down a demon?"   
    
And an even more unnerving question hung unasked in the air:  What would they do if they found him?   
    
    
    
    
  
  
To be continued. 

* * *

  
**Japanese terms: **  
    
ageya – teahouse; they served a bit more than just tea in Yoshiwara   
Asakusa – the theatre district   
baka – idiot   
Bakumatsu – the period of revolution in which power shifted from the shogunate to the Meiji government   
Fukugawa – East Bank district in which prostitutes began to create competition for the Yoshiwara by the late 1800's  
geisha – entertainers   
Kabuki – a style of theatre   
Kami-sama – god   
oiran – the highest class of courtesans   
onnagata – a male actor who plays female roles in Kabuki theatre   
Senso Temple – Asakusa Kannonji, a temple in honor of the goddess of mercy, Kannon   
Shin Yoshiwara – the walled off red-light district in Tokyo where prostitution was licensed and legal   
shirobei – guards at Shin Yoshiwara   
taichou – captain, commander   
    
    
**Author's Note:  **  
    
I promise.  I swear.  Yumi and Shishio will finally meet in the next chapter.   
    
Sorry for the ridiculously long time it took me to update this.  It was due partly from a heavy intrusion of Real Life and partly from a mild case of writer's block.  My Real Life schedule has eased up, and I think the writer's block is gone now.  So hopefully, I'll be able to update more regularly.   
    
I'm actually surprised now at how many people have actually read this.  As always, thanks to all the  kind reviewers:  Leandra, Sharai Darekin, Shihali, MissHappen, Akai Kitsune, wombat, fujifunmum, Shimizu Hitomi, Fallen Virtue, and fenris-wolf.   
    
— HB   
  



	4. Chapter 04 Dinner Guest

**OIRAN: Chapter 4 – Dinner Guest**  
By Haku Baikou  
30.Jul.2003 

* * *

  
Her nose and cheeks were numb from the late autumn breeze, which swept across the river, chilling all the occupants of the rowboat. Her eyes closed, Yumi tried to focus on the biting cold, hoping to be distracted from her present predicament. It didn't work. She then concentrated on the gentle rocking of the boat, on the soft sounds as water sluiced off the oars. Her senses desperately clung to anything, anything that would keep her attention away from what was directly in front of her. Still no success.   
  
It was a desperate, silent battle she fought, a battle to remain calm, to maintain her composure which was on the brink of splintering apart. It was a battle to forget that Mari sat, not three feet away, her pale throat exposed to a wakizashi that had already drawn a small trickle of blood and threatened to release far more. She could hear the geisha whimper softly, poise shattered, reduced to a dazed shadow of her normal self. Mari had fallen apart after the events of the day. Understandable, considering hers was the life in danger here. Her throat was the one that was bared and bleeding.   
  
Yumi gripped the side of the boat tightly. The more Mari fell to pieces, the more Yumi had to hold onto what was left of her own shredded courage. One of them had to keep hold of her senses, had to remain calm until someone would notice they were missing and send Kitada-san and the shirobei to come and rescue them. She tried to think courageous thoughts. But despite her brave intentions, Yumi couldn't help wanting to cover her face with her hands and cry. She shook. From the cold, from fear, from the horrors she'd witnessed earlier in the day.   
  
"Yumi-san, are you all right? You're not feeling ill, are you?"  
  
A child's voice, silvery clear, and faintly tinged with worry.  
  
Soujirou.   
  
"I hope you're not," he continued, smiling earnestly at her. "I'm sorry if this boat is uncomfortable. If Shishio-sama had known I would be bringing back guests, I'm sure he would have sent something with softer seats."  
  
Softer seats. Gods.   
  
Did the boy even realize how crazed the situation was? How incongruous, how utterly insane it was for him to be asking her such a thing when he was the source of her terror? Yumi had the sickening notion that he had no real understanding of the emotional turmoil he was putting his two captives through, that he was honestly and sincerely asking after her welfare. Which, of course, made the situation all the more horrifying. She opened her eyes. And shuddered.   
  
Soujirou was staring at her with the same mild expression he'd maintained since this whole nightmare began. The same genial hint of a smile he'd had when he'd first threatened Mari's life, the polite look he wore as he slew the unfortunate shirobei who'd tried to stop him at the Main Gate. The same expression he'd had as he had remarked on how lovely the weather was today, and wasn't it fine to be on the river on such a beautiful day? All spoken while he clutched Mari's head back by a handful of her hair and held the blade steadily under her chin.   
  
Yumi wondered at the killer before her. She had never seen his like. Had never in her worst nightmares known that a child—such a young and innocent-seeming child—could possess the soul of a monster. That is, if he had a soul at all.   
  
She looked away again, unable to bear the wide-eyed stare of her captor, unable to bear the whited-out fear in Mari's eyes.   
  
Yumi couldn't believe this was happening. Her mind had trouble accepting the surreal turn of events to what had begun as such an ordinary day. She'd awakened this morning to find Jubei up, cheerfully readying himself for a trip to Kamatari's place in the Asakusa. They'd exchanged pleasantries over breakfast and the artist had then gone, while Yumi began preparing for Takei's arrival. Mari had sat in the corner idly practicing on her koto while Yumi's servants dressed her in the ornate kimono she would wear for Takei-san's visit.   
  
Soujirou—who had a child's resilience and had recovered quickly after a good night's sleep in a warm bed—had sat quietly in the corner, watching her with interest and asking the occasional politely phrased question. His comments had seemed innocent enough at first. A child's natural curiosity regarding what would go on during Takei's visit, what certain objects of Yumi's wardrobe were called, who Takei-san was….  
  
But then she'd begun to get the distinct impression that his questions were leading somewhere, that he was trying to glean information from her for…for gods knew what. Who was Takei-san exactly. What part did he play in the Bakumatsu. What kind of business did Takei run on the riverfront. Yumi and Mari had been reduced to staring in shock at the boy as he'd asked question after absurdly adult question. She'd shaken her head at the child and answered him in the broadest of terms, disconcerted by his fascination with the former daimyo-turned Ishin Shishi supporter who was now her chief client and her main source of income.   
  
It wasn't until they were lining up for the douchu late in the afternoon when news came that Takei-san would not be coming. Irritated, Yumi had sent all the other retainers away, and she and Mari had returned to her rooms to find the boy watching them from a window. Soujirou had retained his cheerful manner, but his extreme disappointment was evident as Yumi explained to him why she was back so soon.   
  
She had then taken off her wig and hair pins and peeled out of her ridiculously ornate attire while Mari resumed her comfortable position playing the koto in the corner of the room. Yumi had been staring at her clothes, trying to decide if it was acceptable for her to wear the same outfit for Takei's next visit, when she'd realized that Mari had stopped playing.   
  
And when she'd turned to ask the geisha to continue, she'd been astounded and horrified to find Soujirou calmly holding his wakizashi to the geisha's throat. She'd been too shocked to say anything and simply stared at the boy as he politely apologized to them both for what he was about to do.   
  
The rest was a blur.   
  
They'd sneaked out of the ageya through one of the back doors the servants used, then hurried down a side street until they were near the Main Gate. Yumi had thought for sure, then, that she and Mari would be safe since the Main Gate was the only real way out of Yoshiwara, and women were not permitted to pass. There were three other lesser gates, of course, but those were for emergencies only, and the two women and the boy could never open the heavy doors on their own. So the Main Gate was their only choice. And the guards would surely notice them, she had thought. The men would surely stop Soujirou from this madness. Yes, she thought to herself. Getting out of the ageya was one thing. Getting out from the Main Gate was a different matter all together.   
  
She'd nearly cried with relief when, indeed, they were spotted, and the six guards on gate duty had rushed over, blocking them from the exit.   
  
What she hadn't anticipated, however, was that the guards' own consciences would be their undoing, and that they'd quickly be defeated. As the first guard neared, Soujirou had exploded into action, running full-tilt at the guard with wakizashi held ready. The guard had blinked and hesitated, not quite able to bring himself to harm a child.   
  
The child, however, had held no such reservations. With lightning speed, he'd leaped toward the man, the wakizashi whipping forth in a broad horizontal arc, decapitating the guard with a violent spray of steamy crimson before anyone could quite realize what exactly had happened.   
  
Mari had screamed then, and dropped to her knees. And Yumi herself had desperately fought the waves of nausea that had threatened to overwhelm her as the man's head wobbled across the ground, coming to rest a mere arms-length from where Yumi stood.   
  
Bystanders had noticed by then, and chaos had erupted on the main Boulevard as everyone tried at once to run for cover. Yumi had grabbed Mari by the shoulders, trying to lift the girl to her feet. It was their only chance to run at that point, while the child was distracted by the guards and the crowd could hide their passage. But Mari had slumped in her arms and couldn't seem to move, and Yumi, sickened by the gory site before her, had not had the strength to pull the other woman's dead weight away.   
  
And so they'd lost their chance. For when she looked up again, Yumi saw that Soujirou had somehow killed another of the guards. And he was no longer alone. Four men, dressed from head to toe in black, had come out of nowhere, entering through the Main Gate. One of them had come towards Yumi at Soujirou's quickly shouted command and stood guard over the two women. And the other three newcomers had then flanked the boy on each side, swords drawn as they faced the shirobei.   
  
Yumi had no idea where these men had come from, or how they'd known to be at the gate at that particular time, but she could tell they were subordinates of Soujirou by the unquestioning way in which they'd obeyed him and the protective stance they'd taken around him as they faced the four remaining gate guards.   
  
The four guards hadn't stood a chance and they'd known it. But they fought well nonetheless, before succumbing to their opponents' attacks. Yumi had watched helplessly, her last hopes dying with the last guard, as the man in black next to her scooped Mari up in his arms and ordered Yumi to follow. She could do nothing but obey since the other three men and Soujirou now stood before her, ready to escort her out.   
  
And so she'd followed them, passing through the Main Gate for the first time since she was sold fifteen years before. A part of her mind had wondered in awe at such a thing. After all, she had dreamed of walking beyond those very gates every day of her life since she'd arrived at Yoshiwara, but this had not been the way she'd imagined doing so. Not like this! Not as a prisoner. Not with her way paved in the blood of good men, Kitada's men.   
  
Kitada. Where was he, she'd thought desperately.   
  
She'd wished Jubei were with her.  
  
Tears slid uncontrollably down her cheeks as she'd numbly followed her captors out onto the road. She hadn't resisted when one of them hoisted her up in his arms as the little group picked up their pace and traveled faster in case more of the shirobei came after them. She had simply shut her eyes and clung on tightly as the man ran over the grassy terrain of the field, the bloody field that Jubei had fought in just the night before, she thought to herself. The field that led to the wide Sumida River beyond, a river she had not seen since childhood.  
  
And so. Here they were. On the river and sitting in the rowboat the black-clad men had arrived in. The four of them rowed in silence as Soujirou kept a watchful eye on the two captives.   
  
The sun was setting, outlining the clouds with fire and throwing the sky into a brilliant flare of orange and gold. Soujirou turned a bit to stare off into the distance, and when Yumi followed his gaze, she saw the approaching silhouette of a huge western steamship, a slow, leisurely pleasure craft, the type that could often be seen ferrying foreign tourists up and down the river between cities.  
  
This one seemed oddly empty, however, lacking the brilliant array of lanterns that usually decorated such ships this time of evening. It cleaved through the quiet waters of the river in relative silence, no other noises except for those random mechanical sounds a ship of such size naturally made. And there were no discernible signs of travelers aboard the vessel. The main deck of the ship was empty.   
  
Save for one.   
  
One tall, lone figure, silhouetted against the fiery hues of the darkening horizon. He stood on the port side of the ship's prow, hands on the railings, leaning slightly forward. Watching them, apparently.   
  
As the rowboat neared the larger vessel, Yumi thought she could see the thin trailings of bandages flapping gently in the breeze, the only signs of motion in the otherwise still figure. She held her breath. This, she realized with a faint shiver up her spine, was Jubei's demon. She tried to pick out more details, but his features were too dark for her to discern anything. As she squinted, trying to see better, the shadowed figure suddenly straightened and went inside.   
  
Yumi frowned. She had been unable to tell what color his eyes were.   
  
As they boarded the steamship, Yumi was alarmed to see they intended to separate her from Mari. She grabbed Mari's arm, latching on tightly, refusing to let go as one of the men began to pry at her fingers.   
  
"Let go of me," she cried, as he tried to pull her away from her friend. Mari looked at her with large, solemn eyes. The girl did not speak, however. Hadn't uttered a word since they'd seen that guard's head fly.   
  
"What's going on here?" asked Soujirou, who had disappeared briefly to presumably speak with his Lord Shishio. He was back now, watching Yumi's struggle with frank curiosity. "Yumi-san, please let go of Mari-san's arm. I think you're hurting her."  
  
Yumi's mouth gaped in shock at his accusation. She let go of Mari's arm.   
  
And something within her snapped.  
  
"I'm…? I'm hurting—How dare you!" she sputtered, incredulously. "Demon child! Abomination! You dare say that to me!" she shrieked. She felt as if floodgates were flung open, and all her frustrations and fears from the day spilled forth, knocking all restraint and good sense aside. She knew the wrong words from her could lead to Mari's death or her own. But she didn't care anymore. Had taken all that she could take in one day, and simply didn't give a damn about it all anymore.   
  
"Let go of my arm!" she cried on the verge of hysteria. "Let go of me, you pigs! You bastards! Where are you taking her? Mari!"  
  
The geisha stared at Yumi with blank, panic-stricken eyes as she was ushered through a small doorway and disappeared from view.   
  
"Yumi-san, please calm down. Mari-san will be fine. I wouldn't hurt her without reason. She was nice to me. Yumi-san. Calm down….Please?" Soujirou said placatingly, more embarrassed than offended by the scene she was causing. The black-clad guards looked to the boy with awkward, questioning faces, unsure as to how much force they should employ in restraining their frenzied captive.   
  
"Yumi-san, if you don't calm down, the food will become cold!"  
  
What?   
  
"What in the world are you talking about?" she asked, staring at the boy. He said the most absurd things….  
  
"Shishio-sama has invited you to dinner. If you don't calm down, you'll be late. And the food will be cold."  
  
She blinked. "Who the hell cares?" she asked, all pretense at oiran-civility dropped.  
  
He seemed mildly startled by her response. "I do."  
  
She stared at him, at his earnest face. She shook her head. Unbelievable, his sincerity.  
  
"And you really should watch the language," Soujirou continued. "You don't swear in front of other children, do you?"  
  
"Other children don't behead people."  
  
A lift of the eyebrows. "Hai, hai, you're right of course. But it would please me if you'd refrain from swearing in Shishio-sama's presence," the boy said, his voice taking on a slightly more serious edge though the smile was wide as ever.   
  
A fleeting image of the gate guard's head sailing through the air as it landed near her feet. Yumi blinked. Looked at the boy again. Surely, she was going mad from the strains of the day.   
  
"You understand, I'm a little…upset," she said, surprised that her voice at least was steady, if her mental state was not. "It's been a rather difficult day."  
  
It wasn't exactly an apology or a promise she offered the boy. She didn't think she was quite capable of civility at the moment. Yumi didn't know what possessed her to speak in such a brusque manner.   
  
She had been trained since childhood to clamp down on her emotions, to keep her face serene and her voice light no matter what she was feeling in her heart. She could make polite conversation in her sleep, could whisper sweet, soothing words to the most boorish of men. So why was her tongue so venomous now? Why, when this, of all times, was the time to keep quiet, to nod demurely and remain as passive as possible. To please her captors and survive.   
  
She was in a presence of a cheerful killer. She was about to have dinner with a red-eyed demon. And now, of all times. Now, her mind did this to her? Failed at all the secrets to charm that she possessed, failed to remain detached and objective. Now. Of all times, her own wits flew south and betrayed her. And made her unable to resist foolishly—suicidally—sassing back at her captors.   
  
She closed eyes in horror. She and Mari would most likely die tonight. And it would be her fault because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. What in the world was wrong with her? Was this what it meant to lose one's sanity? Did she break sometime during her capture without realizing it? She'd never been subjected to this kind of situation before, had never experienced such intense emotional upheaval, such abject terror. So she'd never known what her true reaction would be in the face of danger. Now she knew. And her own crazed, unpredictable actions terrified her.   
  
Yumi swallowed nervously and followed the young boy as he led her to the captain's cabin. It was too dark in the room in contrast to the brilliant sunset display outside. Her eyes hadn't yet adjusted, and she sensed, rather than saw Soujirou brushing lightly past her as he left the room with a quiet, "Please enjoy the evening, Yumi-san."  
  
Her vision adjusted. And she realized she wasn't alone. The bandaged man, the demon, sat silently at the end of a large Western-styled dining room table, waiting.   
  
"Have a seat." The voice was low, but pitched to carry across the room. It was a voice to be obeyed.   
  
Yumi complied as a server pulled out a chair for her. Her vision finally adjusted completely to the dim lighting of the room, and the demon's features finally came into full view.   
  
So this was Lord Shishio. Bandages, from head to toe, exactly as Jubei had described. And the eyes truly were red, a deep smoldering crimson which bore into her with an innate intensity, chilling her more than the river wind did, and making her skin crawl. He leaned casually against one armrest, his relaxed demeanor making his gaze all the more unsettling. As if it was effortless for him to reduce a person to a state of unease.   
  
The server re-appeared, holding a large silver bowl filled with water and a white cloth which he offered to Yumi.  
  
"Wipe it off," said the demon.  
  
She looked at him, uncomprehending.   
  
"The make-up," he said, indicating her face with a casual wave of his hand. "I want to see who I'm dining with."  
  
"So do I," she said as she finally found her voice again. "If I do so, will you take off your bandages?"   
  
The server nearly dropped the bowl as he made a small choking noise. Shishio's eyes flicked briefly in his direction in mild annoyance, and the server froze, seemingly too terrified to breathe.   
  
The demon looked back at her, a small humorless smile on his lips. "Men have died for asking less."  
  
As an oiran, Yumi was well versed in gauging people's reactions, but the bandages covering this man's face and his deadpan lack of facial expression made it difficult even for her experienced eye. Still, instinct had led her to believe that this man would prefer a show of strength rather than a meek display of passivity. She'd taken a terrible chance, asking him to remove his bandages. But she was fortunate enough, she believed, to have read him correctly.  
  
She felt a bit of her normal confidence return then. Just a shade of it, but enough to still her trembling hands and allow her to face the enemy on more familiar ground. Swords and blood could reduce her to a quivering, shaking mess. But fencing with words was something she had at least a chance at.   
  
"I'm dead anyway, aren't I? What have I to lose?" she said softly. "Or are you afraid to show me?"  
  
The room was very still, and for a moment, Yumi was afraid she'd read the man incorrectly after all.   
  
But Shishio laughed then, in genuine grim amusement, and the server who stood behind Yumi let a breath out in obviously relief.   
  
"So. This is the famed charm of Komagata Yumi," said the crimson-eyed man wryly.   
  
"Iya, my charm is only for my friends and honored guests."   
  
"Good," he replied smoothly, taking no affront. "I've no time for a woman's charms."   
  
He leaned back in his chair watching her as she dipped the cloth in the water and quickly removed her make-up. When she finished, the server left the two of them alone, and Yumi forced herself to look full into the face of the man. She thought she saw the barest glint of approval in those eerie eyes, though she could not be sure.   
  
"You were an unexpected find. A stroke of luck, Soujirou says." The stranger eyed her coolly. "Do you know why you're here?"  
  
"No," she said quietly. "But it has something to do with Takei-san, doesn't it?"  
  
"He has something of value that I want," was the man's reply.   
  
"And I'm to help you get it?"  
  
Shishio smiled coldly. "I will get it with or without your help."  
  
"What do you want from me?" Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.   
  
"Information," he answered. "About Takei. About his retainers and his household. Information on how his businesses are run, all of them. Including the illegitimate ones he tries so desperately to conceal. Names. Dates. Times. Meeting places."  
  
Her eyes had widened at his knowledge of Takei-san's illegal activities. She wondered desperately how he knew of such things.   
  
"I can't tell you that," she whispered.  
  
"Can't?" He leaned forward, looking at her intently. "Or won't?"  
  
She couldn't answer that question. But then, her lack of response was in itself, a sort of answer.   
  
"What would you do with such information?" she asked.  
  
"Why, rule the Empire," he answered, a hard glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Shake the World."   
  
She looked more closely at the man and realized he wasn't joking. He had the cool assurance of one who had absolutely no doubts of his own abilities, the calm confidence of one who was extremely strong. Or extremely insane. She highly suspected the latter.  
  
"Would I be too bold in assuming you'd take over the Empire by peaceful means?"  
  
A slight quirk of his mouth. "You would."  
  
"Assuming you could pull off such a thing," she said carefully. "Another war now, so soon after the last… It would destroy the Meiji government."  
  
"What do you care about this government? To them, you're nothing more than cattle."  
  
The Mary Ruth case, he was referring to. Yumi winced. That hurt.   
  
"Nevertheless," she swallowed and continued. "I can't help you."  
  
"Your loyalty to Takei is admirable, but misplaced." He said, and then was silent and merely looked at her with that imperturbable calm.   
  
She studied her hands, thinking of his words, avoiding his gaze as the moments stretched into uncomfortable minutes. Still with no word from the man. He merely sat and watched her. She had the feeling he enjoyed seeing her so discomfited, and she was determined not to let her uneasiness show through.   
  
But gods, she couldn't take the silence anymore.   
  
"You can't be serious! You can't be! Mad, power-hungry men like you plot such things all the time, and yet they rarely act on their words. I know because I've heard it all before! I've seen it over and over again in the clients I serve. They talk and talk, and nothing ever gets done!"  
  
"You have seen it. So you'd know, then, that I am different. Things will get done."   
  
"What makes you think you would succeed where others have failed? And why in the world would you want to succeed? You would destroy this country with such violence!" she cried.   
  
"I love this country," he hissed, his voice deadly and soft. "It has such glorious potential, this nation of ours, and yet it rots under the rule of spineless fools, weakening day by day, a mere shadow of its former glory. Just like the Emperor himself, a feeble man, whose ancestors' warrior blood has thinned beyond usefulness in his pathetic, frail veins."  
  
"And you think another war will make us strong? You think bloodshed—"  
  
"Bloodshed occurs whether we're at war or not. In times of peace, it's merely hidden. But it's always there, in the seedy little dark corners where good little citizens are afraid to look."  
  
He narrowed his eyes and continued.   
  
"Japan needs an infusion of fresh blood. Of strong blood." He smiled wryly. "And it needs a good kick in the ass. Which is what I plan on giving it. It needs a strong leader, one who isn't afraid to take responsibility and exercise control. Katsura Kogoro and a scant few of the others had the will and the vision. And the nerve to see things through. But Katsura isn't strong enough. He has one unforgivable flaw: His leniency, his weakness for the well-being of ordinary people. Something for which I cannot forgive. I will not make the same mistake."  
  
"That's a very cold view of the world, you have," she said softly.   
  
He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again. Softly. "The Bakumatsu taught me many things. It taught me to be more careful, to survive. It taught me that people cannot be trusted. It taught me that people are weak and don't even know what they truly want in their hearts. And it taught me that the strong will survive, while the weak must serve them in doing so. It's a rule of nature."  
  
She didn't know how to respond to that.  
  
"I'm in a charitable mood tonight, Komagata Yumi," said Shishio. "I will allow you to rejoin your friend."  
  
The server came back into the room and waited next to her, ready to escort her out. She noticed belatedly that neither of them had touched their food.   
  
"If you're strong you live. If you're weak, you die," said Shishio. "Something your Shinsengumi friend understands, if you do not."  
  
She gasped, wondering how he knew of Jubei's past. Her expression must have been obvious, for Shishio smirked.  
  
"It's stamped all over his fighting style. Don't be fooled by his soft appearance, Komagata Yumi. That gentle friend of yours… has the ki of a wolf."   
  
"Jubei is not a wolf."  
  
Shishio merely smiled. "Get some rest. We will speak again."  
  
With that, he lifted a finger casually signaling the end of their meeting. The server tugged lightly at her arm, and Yumi allowed herself to be led from the dining room. She didn't turn around to look at her captor, but she could feel his eyes on her back as she was finally led out of the room.   
  


* * *

  
Soujirou joined his master at the railing, enjoying the breeze of the river, the view of the starry night sky.   
  
"Keeping the lady," he said thoughtfully, "Would require you to change your plans. Isn't that an inconvenience, Shishio-sama?"  
  
Shishio stared silently off into the distance. "It merely changes the rules of the game," he murmured.   
  
Soujirou didn't understand what Shishio-sama was talking about. But then, that wasn't a rare occurrence. He had learned in the course of the last couple of years to be patient whenever he didn't understand, to watch events unfold and make themselves clear to him rather than asking Lord Shishio prematurely. So he kept his mouth shut and sighed softly.  
  
"She's nice, isn't she?" he asked his master. "They both are."  
  
His master ignored him, as usual.   
  
"Thank you for sending your men after me," Soujirou added, more as an afterthought than anything else. "They were quite helpful."   
  
Shishio did not bother looking at him. "I'd expected you to be a liability. Until your training took effect. One of my less sound investments. Your fighting is still sloppy, I hear."  
  
Soujirou didn't quite know how to respond to that. But he accepted the criticism calmly as ever, and turned to leave since his master seemed to want to be alone.   
  
"Soujirou."  
  
He turned. "Hai?"  
  
"You proved yourself useful today," he said, his back still turned to the boy.  
  
"Hai, Shishio-sama."   
  
Soujirou beamed in delight.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  


* * *

Japanese terms:  
  
douchu – a public procession by an oiran (and various attendants including geisha) as she makes her way to a teahouse to meet with a client  
wakizashi – short sword  
  
  


* * *

Author's Note:   
  
Whew! Long chapter, at least for me, it was. I may not have caught all the mistakes in this. I'm a bit sleepy right now. Some OOC moments, but I think they're tolerable for the most part. And I think it's appropriate that Shishio and Yumi don't immediately fall madly in love with one another. That would be boring, if you ask me.   
  
I'm moving across-country next month. I won't have computer access for 2, maybe 3 weeks. I doubt I'll get another chapter in before that time. Sorry, but I really have to get going with the packing.   
  
As always, sincere thanks to all the kind reviewers: Calger459, Claudia, Espi, fenris-wolf, fujifunmum, i ate the lotus, M. Smith, Rachel Wes, Sharai Darekin, and Shimizu Hitomi. And thanks, Wombat, for that incredibly helpful e-mail you sent.   
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 05 An Uneasy Alliance

**OIRAN: Chapter 5 – An Uneasy Alliance**  
by Haku Baikou  
26.Oct.2003 

* * *

  
The ground was damp, the morning frost having melted, leaving behind a carpet of spongy moss and wet leaves that looked quite pretty, but, unfortunately, chilled Jubei's feet. A pervading cold seeped into his limbs and settled deep in his bones, stiffening his joints and exacerbating his cough. He'd smothered the noises in the thick sleeve of his haori and forced himself to remain quiet as he trudged along the forest trail behind Kitada and the rest of the men.   
  
His chest burned as he breathed, and he had a growing collection of bloody flecks on his sleeve. And yet he dared not utter any complaints for fear he'd be left behind. Kitada and Kamatari looked at him in concern enough as it was. The old shirobei captain frowned with worry when he thought Jubei wasn't looking. Jubei feared that any moment, he'd be sent back to the small camp that had been set up downriver as their temporary headquarters. Or worse yet, that he'd be sent clear back to Shin Yoshiwara itself.  
  
The entire day had been a disheartening affair, Kitada's best efforts producing only a few hints as to the whereabouts of Yumi and Mari. The girls were on a steam powered paddleboat heading slowly upriver. Kitada and his men knew that much. But despite hours of searching, there was no sign of any such vessel.   
  
Which was not really surprising, Jubei thought, considering the damnable fog that had settled across the water and enshrouded the riverbank since early in the morning. It had showed no signs of clearing throughout the day, and now, as night approached, and the temperature dropped, it seemed to cling even more doggedly to the water and the land around it. Jubei hated the fog. It rendered their search efforts nearly useless. And it was murder on his lungs.   
  
He sighed in relief when Kitada finally stopped ahead to consult with his scouts who were slowly reporting in. Jubei rested as inconspicuously as he could, leaning against a wide tree trunk. He concentrated on taking deep and even breaths despite the near-overwhelming urge to raggedly gulp in air.   
  
He fingered the sword at his hip, as if he could borrow strength from the weapon at his side. He looked at the finely crafted hilt. Strange, that he had not chosen his own sword for this mission of theirs. He had, at the last minute, grabbed the other one. The one he almost never used. It was a strange weapon to him, but its craftsmanship was unequaled, finer than any other weapon he'd owned. And so, despite its rare usage, this particular weapon rested as easily in his grip as his own sword.  
  
"How are you holding up, Jubei?" Kamatari's concerned voice interrupted his thoughts as the young onnagata came over to stand beside him. The petite actor was carrying that gargantuan scythe of his without any obvious effort, while Jubei could barely keep from falling over. The artist experienced just a touch of bitterness at that.  
  
"Fine," he said as he straightened himself and stepped away from the tree. He'd be damned if he'd admit that, no, he wasn't quite all right. That he felt as if his chest were on fire. That his vision was swimming and distorting in fascinatingly aesthetic patterns that—though interesting to look at from an artist's perspective—surely didn't bode well for what was left of his physical stamina.   
  
He must have hidden his discomfort well, for Kamatari nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned his attention on the river, scanning for any signs of the ship.   
  
Jubei studied the young onnagata's slim back. Kamatari looked strangely out of place amid the roughened soldiers of Kitada's command, thought Jubei. And apparently, Kitada's men thought the same, for several of them frowned slightly as they stole furtive glances towards the actor. Kamatari seemed not to notice. Which was for the best. Little did Kitada's men know, Jubei thought smiling to himself. Little did they know that the delicate-seeming onnagata could probably best most of them in a fight. Still, he couldn't really blame Kitada's men for doubting. Kamatari seemed a willowy sapling among oaks in this particular company.   
  
The onnagata turned to look back at him and smiled reassuringly.  
  
"She'll be all right, you know," said Kamatari.  
  
"I hope so," Jubei replied.  
  
"She's a survivor."  
  
Jubei nodded in hopeful agreement and tried not to imagine Yumi alone and frightened, hurt, or worse…. There were times he cursed his artist's overactive imagination….  
  
"…Not to mention a conniving bitch," added Kamatari with a cheeky grin. "Nasty women always come out all right in the end, Jubei. It's the nice ones you have to worry about…. Yumi ought to be fine."   
  
"Thanks," Jubei said dryly.   
  
"Nishida-san. Honjou-san." Kitada called softly as he made his way over to the two of them. The old captain looked troubled.  
  
"Have they found her?" asked Jubei.  
  
"No, not yet."  
  
"What is it then?"  
  
"It's… It's Takei."  
  
"What?" Jubei frowned.  
  
"My men report that Takei's apparently got men in the nearby vicinity. And Takei himself may be out here as well," the old soldier practically growled.  
  
"Looking for Yumi?" asked Kamatari.  
  
"Of course, what else?" Kitada answered. "They're headed this way."  
  
"Oh. Shit," said the young actor.  
  
"Do they know we're out here?" asked Jubei.  
  
"Probably. I'd hoped to avoid them, but…" His voice trailed off as Kitada cocked his head to the side, listening. A faint rustling of noise could be heard in the distance, the sound of a large company of men, of horses, of carriages and carts.   
  
Kitada shook his head. "Too late. They're almost here."  
  
"Damn. He's going to take over," said Jubei. "You know that. He's going to take over everything."  
  
"Hai," said Kitada-san unhappily. "If it were just that strategist of his, what's-his-name, we'd be all right. But if Takei's coming himself…. Hell, he won't listen to anyone, not even his own advisors."  
  
"That arrogant, incompetent ass," Jubei muttered.   
  
The old captain was about to respond when they were suddenly interrupted by one of the shirobei, shouting excitedly: "Kitada-taichou! Kitada-san! We've found them!"  
  
The world froze for just a moment. And then Jubei was moving before the other two even realized what the soldier had said. Kitada and Kamatari quickly caught up with the artist and the three of them met Kitada's excited scout.  
  
"They're just up the river, Kitada-taichou!" said the soldier. He must have run the entire way back, for his breathing was labored, and he looked ready to collapse.  
  
"Shishio's boat? It's near?"  
  
"About two miles upriver."  
  
"You sure it's Shishio's boat? Not some other steamship?" asked the old Captain sternly.  
  
"Hai, hai! I took a small rowboat. Got near, got a fairly good look. It's the one. I'm sure of it." The man took a moment to get his breathing under control. "They were in the middle of the river, near a small island about halfway between the two shores. I saw no other vessels nearby."  
  
"Were you seen?"  
  
"Iya, I don't believe so, Kitada-taichou. At least, no alarms were raised. And no one followed me. I checked."  
  
The shirobei nearby had overheard and were suddenly quiet, awaiting Kitada-san's orders.   
  
Their Captain and Jubei looked at each other, unspoken plans already forming in both their heads. Despite Jubei's current occupation as a woodblock artist, he was a trusted advisor to Kitada-san due to his past experiences with the Shinsengumi. Kitada's men were all quite familiar with the artist who often hung around their barracks, talking shop with their Captain. Many of the older ones remembered seeing Jubei spar with their Captain a few years ago when the artist was still in good health. He had usually won the matches back then. And so they trusted him almost as much as their taichou.   
  
They were a disciplined group and waited expectantly as Jubei and Kitada moved off to the side to confer. Kamatari, blessedly silent for once, waited with the rest of the men.  
  
"What do you think," asked Kitada-san. "You've met this Shishio fellow. You feel he knows what he's doing?"  
  
"No doubt of it," Jubei answered grimly. "I'm sure he fought in the Bakumatsu. No one in the Meiji era has such reflexes. I'd bet what's left of my life on it. We're dealing with an experienced soldier, Kitada-san. And he has trained men. Who knows how many. Do you think you're men are up to this? It won't be an easy fight."  
  
"Some of them are young and untested in actual combat," Kitada admitted. "But they've been trained well. And they're brave lads."  
  
"I thought my fighting days were done long ago," said Jubei quietly. "This ought to be interesting."  
  
"Jubei, perhaps…" Kitada hesitated.   
  
Jubei frowned at the odd look Kitada gave him. He knew what was coming next. Kitada wanted him to stay out of the fight, to stand and watch and do nothing as the rest of them tried to rescue his dearest friend.   
  
Jubei wouldn't allow it. Couldn't allow it.   
  
He fixed Kitada with a hard stare that brooked no argument. He was Nishida Jubei, formerly of the Shinsengumi, and despite the fact that he was sick now and had never one of the best fighters of his company, he still had the strength and the will to do as he wished, to decide his own fate. He looked at Kitada, daring the older man to say the words, daring him to tell Jubei he couldn't join them.   
  
Kitada swallowed, startled, Jubei knew, by the fierce look on his face. Kitada had never seen him angry, had never seen anything but the mildest of expressions on his face, even when they'd practiced together years ago.   
  
Kitada cleared his throat awkwardly. "What do you think, then, Nishida-san? Watch and wait? They're bound to run out of supplies sooner or later. They'll have to come to shore."  
  
Jubei smiled inwardly, relieved that the captain had backed down.   
  
"Hai," he agreed. "Only difficult part is to figure out which side they'll go to. East or west? And if they don't land soon, we'd have to force them into doing it."  
  
"Jubei," called Kamatari, hesitating to interrupt the two.   
  
"What is it," asked Jubei, unable to keep the slight hint of irritation out of his voice.  
  
"Jubei, Takei-san has arrived!"  
  
In the excitement over finding Yumi, he had all but forgotten about Takei. The sight of the former lord's carriage coming to a halt before his very eyes forced upon him a situation he had hoped never to have to deal with. Before he could even protest, the carriage had stopped completely, and the vanguard of Takei's impressive company had surrounded the entire clearing.  
  
Beside him, Kitada-san tensed. The old captain had been a former servant of Takei a long time ago, and to this day, Kitada made it very plain what he thought of the lord. His opinion of Takei was actually quite a common one. The only difference between Kitada-san and most other men, however, was that the Captain made his feelings quite obvious and public.   
  
The carriage doors opened, and out stepped a giant of a man dressed in black gi and olive-green hakama. Takei kept his hair long, bound high in the fashion of warriors. Despite his considerable bulk, his movements were smooth and fluid, the telltale signs of a warrior well versed in combat. Even Jubei, who detested the man more than most, could not deny that Takei moved with the grace of one who had fought in the Bakumatsu.   
  
As the former daimyo stepped down from the carriage, he was followed by a smaller, thin man with chin length hair and haunted, sunken eyes. Sadojima-san, Takei's rusuiyaku, or house manager. Or so that's what his public title was. Jubei knew, however, that Sadojima was much more than he appeared. He was Takei's right hand man. And considering Takei-san's inability for original thought, Jubei suspected Sadojima was actually the mastermind behind most of the former-daimyo's success in the post-war era.  
  
Takei Ryuichi, unlike so many of his former peers, had managed to survive the Bakumatsu not only alive, but quite well off financially. His family estates were gone, his title lost, and his current fortune most likely couldn't match what he'd had before the war, but he was still considered obscenely rich by any normal man's standards. Somehow, with the help of his advisors, he had managed to amass a considerable fortune from the spoils of war, taking advantage of those less fortunate, and outright bullying any who opposed his business ventures.   
  
He was slime in Jubei's estimation. A powerful man with considerable skill with a sword. But a far cry from a warrior no matter how proudly he carried himself.   
  
As the former daimyo surveyed the scene, his eyes settled on Jubei and narrowed a bit.   
  
"Nishida Jubei, my old friend. What a surprise to see you here," said Takei, his voice oily smooth. His voice was pitched for pleasantries, but his smile never reached his eyes.   
  
"No more of a surprise than your presence here, Takei-san," Jubei murmured. "A powerful man such as yourself has no need to take personal charge of such an insignificant affair, surely."   
  
"Hardly insignificant when my darling Yumi is involved," said the former daimyo. He turned towards the captain. "Kitada Zenko," Takei chided as his gaze slid over to the shirobei captain. "What are you doing dragging a sick artist out to a warrior's assembly? The poor wretch ought to be in bed."  
  
Jubei bit down on a retort and kept his face impassive, unwilling to allow Takei the satisfaction of seeing him riled.  
  
"Nishida-san has battle experience that is of value in our search," said Kitada, his voice rigidly neutral. "And as you can see, he is well enough at the moment."   
  
"Aa," said Takei smiling. "Kitada, my men tell me you've found the boat. Is this so?"  
  
"Hai, Takei-san." Kitada could not keep the bitter tone completely from his voice.  
  
Takei's fleeting frown was quickly hidden behind a smooth grin as he motioned for his advisor to his side. "Have you met Sadojima-san, Kitada?"  
  
"His reputation precedes him," said Kitada. "But no, we have not formally met." He nodded briefly to the other man.  
  
Sadojima barely acknowledged the captain. The man looked tired. Or bored. Jubei couldn't tell which.   
  
"And what are your plans for taking the ship?" asked Takei.   
  
"We follow them. Attack when they dock for supplies--"  
  
"Ridiculous," said Takei. "Absurd. We're not cowards, Kitada-san."  
  
"Sir?" asked Kitada slowly.   
  
"I don't savor the idea of waiting in the dark, skulking in the shadows as they dock."  
  
Jubei was not at all surprised by Takei's reaction. But all the same, it took an effort not to blurt the first invective that came to mind. He watched Sadojima intently and saw that the rusuiyaku seemed to agree. The man had nodded almost imperceptibly at the shirobei captain's plan.  
  
"To attack them while they're traveling would present difficulties," Jubei said reasonably.  
  
Takei looked at them, his expression hard. "I can understand why an artist would wish to choose such a cowardly path. But a warrior, Kitada-san, ought to know better."  
  
"Takei-sama," said Sadojima quietly. "Perhaps…" His protest died on his lips as his master turned his gaze on Sadojima. The man was instantly cowed. Sadojima was his house manager, and most likely, Takei's trusted advisor and strategist. But even he looked on Takei-san with no small amount of trepidation. Jubei wondered what kind of a master Takei was to make his own men fear him so.   
  
"We catch up to them. We find boats. We attack them on the water. We bring Yumi home. It's that simple," said Takei.   
  
Jubei bit his lip. It was hardly that simple.   
  
"Takei-san," said Jubei. "Please consider—"  
  
"Silence," warned the former daimyo. And to Jubei's dismay, by some unseen hand gesture of the former daimyo, several of Takei's men had their hands on their weapons. Which caused Kitada's men to be instantly on the alert, their hands also ready to draw their swords.   
  
It was ridiculous. It was surreal. How the situation had escalated to the threat of violence within the span of minutes was beyond Jubei. They were supposed to be hunting for Yumi, not trying to kill each other.   
  
"I have had a very bad day, gentlemen," said Takei slowly, voice dripping with venom. "I've had enough dealing with my offices burnt down. I don't need any more trouble. You have two choices, Kitada-san. Join us and help me get Yumi. Or you go back to Shin Yoshiwara now. I will not tolerate your presence otherwise."  
  
Kitada motioned for his men to stand down. They did so reluctantly, never taking their eyes off Takei's troops.   
  
"We'll join you," he said quietly.   
  
Takei nodded, satisfied, and turned on his heel to leave. "Sadojima-san," he said, his back toward everyone. "See that the artist has a comfortable ride back home. He has no business being out here."  
  
Son of a bitch!  
  
"No!" protested Jubei, desperately looking toward Kitada who seemed unsure of what to do. Takei ignored him and kept walking. "I will not be left behind, Takei!"  
  
Sadojima and two soldiers approached Jubei. "Come with me," ordered the rusuiyaku.  
  
"Forget it. I'm not leaving," Jubei almost snarled.  
  
Sadojima laughed. "We don't need a dead man with rotted lungs—"  
  
  
Jubei didn't know what happened exactly.   
  
He only knew that one moment he was facing a mocking Sadojima, and the next, the man was on the ground screaming, blood pouring down his face, and Jubei's right hand was cocked in a fist, throbbing with pain. He was breathing hard, and his face felt flush with exertion.   
  
He was aware of angry shouts, of tugging against his sleave, of a messy commotion all around him. But all he saw was the blood pouring from Sadojima nose.   
  
"Stay back!" A high pitched, almost womanly voice shouted near him. "He's staying, and that's all there is to it! Anyone fucking touch him, and you deal with me, understand?"  
  
He blinked. Looked around. Came out of the strange state he was in to notice Kitada behind him, gripping his arms tightly to keep him from moving. Kamatari stood in front of him, his scythe in hand, facing Takei's men, who circled them angrily. Kamatari, in battle mode, had shouted the challenge to Takei's men.  
  
"I hit him," said Jubei numbly. "I think I broke his nose."  
  
"Yes, Nishida-san," growled Kitada. "I wish you hadn't."  
  
"Not me. I'm glad you did it," Kamatari muttered without turning to face them.  
  
Takei had turned to watch the goings-on. He spared only a quick glance toward Sadojima as his soldiers half dragged, half carried the rusuiyaku away. He was looking at Jubei with an odd, unreadable expression on his face.   
  
"Nishida-san is obviously strong enough to fight, Takei-san," Kitada called. "I beg you to reconsider."  
  
Takei smirked, seemingly more amused by the whole affair than anything. "So bring him then, if you must," he said dismissively. And with a wave of his hand, his soldiers backed off. Takei retired to his carriage, and his men began to move.   
  
Kitada let go of Jubei's arms and began shouting orders for his men to move. They would be joining Takei's troops, and they would be moving quickly to catch up with the ship.   
  
Jubei was left alone with Kamatari who looked at the artist with wide eyes.   
  
"What?" asked the artist, still shocked that he had done such a thing.  
  
"I've never seen you like that, Jubei," said Kamatari softly. "Your ki…."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." The onnagata swung his scythe onto one shoulder and took Jubei's arm with his free hand. "You all right? Can you walk? You look a bit unsteady."  
  
"I'm fine," said Jubei.  
  
Jubei flexed the fingers of his hand. His knuckles were sore, but he was relieved to see he hadn't broken anything. He frowned, surprised at himself for succumbing to his anger, for acting on instinct. He hadn't done anything like this since the Bakumatsu, had always kept tight rein over his more aggressive emotions since the war had ended.   
  
It didn't feel real to him, his sudden attack on Sadojima. Hell, the entire incident with Takei felt unreal, disconnected somehow.   
  
"Really, Kamatari. I'm fine," he repeated. "Let's go. I don't want to fall behind."  
  
The young actor was still staring at him. Kamatari looked as if he were about to say something, but then thought better of it. He kept his hand lightly on Jubei's arm and the two of them began walking, falling in with the rest of Kitada's men as they traveled with Takei's company upriver.   
  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  


* * *

Japanese Terms:  
  
Aa – yes (informal)  
Bakumatsu – the period of revolution in which power shifted from the shogunate to the Meiji government  
Gi – man's tunic or robe-like garment, worn with hakama  
Hai – yes  
Hakama – wide skirted pants worn over the gi  
Haori – a jacket-like garment worn over one's kimono or gi  
Iya – no  
Onnagata – an actor who impersonated females in Kabuki theatre  
Rusuiyaku – house manager  
Shin Yoshiwara – the walled and legalized red light district in Edo/Tokyo  
Shirobei – guards of Shin Yoshiwara  
Taichou – captain  
  
  
  


* * *

Author's Note:  
  
I bet you thought this story was dead. Well, I do have to apologize. It has been ridiculously long since the last update. I've had writer's block for what seems like forever. I think I still have it, actually. This chapter is, to be honest, terrible. Absolutely terrible. But I decided to post it because if I don't, I will never get anywhere else with this story. It's like a brick wall I'm up against. It's keeping me from writing the rest of the chapters, so I'm hoping that by posting it and getting it out of the way, I can continue writing the rest of this fic.   
  
To the reviewers - fenris-wolf, Shimizu Hitomi, Nameless, Eeevee, Rachel Wes, Fallen Virtue, unknownreader2003, Akai Kitsune, Sing, Brittanie Love, Akai Kah'ghe, The Bloody Queen of Hearts, I won't tell, and Angrybee:   
  
Thank you so much for reading (although, after this chapter, I'm not sure you'll want to stick around.) I don't know how quickly I'll get the next chapter out. But I'll try my best. That's all I can promise you. And once again, please forgive the lackluster quality of this chapter. I am not at all happy with it, so I would understand completely if you had criticisms as well. I really wish I could get back into the swing of things. *sigh *  
  
A bit frustrated,  
haku baikou  
  
  



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